Trapped in Time
by Kelcor
Summary: AU for ST:ENT 3x11 "Carpenter Street"; PreSeries NCIS: New Orleans based on plot for 2x20 "Billy and the Kid". Summary: What if Archer took Trip with him instead of T'Pol? What if they got stuck in time due to temporal technical difficulties? LOTS of h/c! Fatherly Archer/Pride, Hurt Trip/LaSalle! Rated T for mentions of torture.
1. Prologue

_A/N #1 The dialogue in this 'Prologue' was taken directly from 3x11, "Carpenter Street" – except for the word 'approximately' at the end. All the descriptions and inner-thought snippets are from my own imagination._

 _A/N #2 (for the people new to Star Trek: Enterprise, who may not be familiar with the full names of the characters) I didn't want to keep saying 'Archer did this', 'Trip did that' or 'Daniels said this', so I jumped around a bit using different versions of each character's name – ie. Jonathan/the captain/Archer; Trip/Tucker/the cheif engineer; Daniels/the temporal agent_

PROLOGUE

It had been a while since Jonathan Archer had snuck to the kitchen for a midnight snack. When he did, it reminded him of when he was a boy and he and his dad would creep down to the kitchen for a piece of his mother's homemade chocolate pie. Such a simple recipe that had been passed down through their family, originating with his great-great-great-great-great grandmother, but oh-so delicious!

Archer generally resisted the urge to ask chef to make it because he knew he'd be inclined to eat the whole thing on his own, much the same way he and his father had all those years ago – and he was the first to admit, at least to himself, that his metabolism wasn't what it used to be.

Porthos, of course, preceded him into the galley size kitchen. The dog, however, had only one snack in mind – cheese! Knowing that it wasn't good for him but always weighing life with the quality of life, the captain often capitulated and gave his tiny friend small pieces of his favourite treat once or twice a week. Sometimes more, depending on how bad his week had been. Because making Porthos happy always cheered Archer up, as well!

There had been quite a few of those weeks lately, and this was one of them. If Jonathan wasn't careful, Porthos would be coming out of the Expanse quite a bit rounder than he had been going in.

As he turned to toss one final piece of cheese to the beagle, he found Daniels squatting down scratching the dog behind the ears.

"How've you been, Jonathan," the temporal agent asked fondly.

"It's about time you showed up," Archer replied, not quite matching the tone. He wasn't the same man Daniels met two years previous. "Our mission has changed quite a bit since the last time I saw you. But I suppose you're aware of it."

"I am," Daniels confirmed, expression grim.

"Maybe you could fill in a few of the blanks for me. The Xindi weapon would be a good place to start."

"We don't know any more than you do."

This both surprised and annoyed the captain. "I thought you and your colleagues were supposed to be keeping an eye on the timeline. You're from the 30th century, hasn't all this happened already?"

"History doesn't mention anything about a conflict between Humans and Xindi," Daniels explained patiently.

"How can that be?"

"The events that are taking place are the result of temporal incursions. They are not supposed to be happening."

"But they are happening," Archer insisted, temper flaring.

"Yes, they are. But the outcome hasn't reached us yet. It takes a while for changes to ripple through the timeline."

"The time traveller, the man the Suliban worked for – "

"What about him?"

"He's the one who told us about the weapon being built. Should I believe him?"

"You have no reason not to," Daniels advised.

"You said I'm supposed to play some crucial part in history. Does this have something to do with it?"

"I wish I could say that it does, but I don't know," Daniels told him earnestly. "I told you, none of this was supposed to happen."

"You're not being very helpful," Jonathan griped, pushing away from the counter in anger and giving the temporal agent his back. Then a thought occurred to him. If Daniels wasn't there to give him more information about the Xindi weapon, then… "Why are you here?"

"We've detected three Xindi where they're not supposed to be," Daniels said, tone turning urgent.

"This Expanse is filled with Xindi."

"I'm not talking about the Expanse. I'm talking about Detroit, Michigan," Daniels explained. "Approximately 150 years ago."

TBC


	2. Chapter One - Carpenter Street AU

_A/N #1 This chapter has scene snippets from the episode 'Carpenter Street', but they're altered to fit Trip joining the captain, instead of T'Pol. I depicted the episode in broad strokes so as not to bore the fans who saw the episode, while also acting as a Cliff's Notes, so to speak, for those who missed it or can't remember all the details._

 _A/N #2 Name jumping still applies. Archer = Jonathan = the captain; Trip = Tucker = the chief engineer_

 _A/N #3 Slight spoiler for "Similitude" (3x10) near the end of this chapter._

CHAPTER ONE

Archer sounded the chime. Fully aware that his friend hadn't been sleeping well lately, he felt bad for waking him in the middle of the night.

"Come in," Trip's voice called from the other side of the door.

He sounded exhausted as usual, but he didn't sound like he'd been sleeping. Archer sighed sadly, recognizing the implications of that he let himself into his chief engineer's quarters.

The bed was made, not even rumpled. A cup of still steaming black coffee sat on the desk next to the computer, and Commander Charles "Trip" Tucker III was fully dressed in his Starfleet uniform, sitting in the chair next to the desk. Taking in the surroundings, Jonathan eyed his best friend with concern. "I'd say 'sorry to wake you' but… are you even _trying_ to sleep anymore, Trip?"

"Not tired," the chief engineer said, though the dark circles under his eyes told a very different story.

This development made the captain even more certain of his decision. He'd been debating his choice all the way from the kitchen. Trip had lost his sister six short months earlier and, if he were honest with himself, Archer felt guilty for not being there for his friend when he needed him the most. Part of him was dreading being reminded of that culpability during this mission into the past.

But he could see now how desperately Trip needed a break, time off the ship – even if it was to chase down three Xindi on early 21st century earth. And maybe it would give Jonathan a chance to make up for his lack of attention. He knew Trip would accept his apology, there was never any doubt about that. He just wasn't so sure he deserved to have that forgiveness so readily given to him.

"What can I do for ya', Cap'n?"

"I just had a visit from Daniels," he revealed.

Tucker's eye brows leapt up almost to his hairline. "Well, that guy really likes to just pop by unannounced, doesn't he?"

"Daniels says that he and his team have discovered three Reptilians on earth – "

"What?" the chief engineer got to his feet slowly, eyes flashing dangerously.

The small quarters held a tension in the air that could be easily cut with a knife. Trip had a definite animosity toward the Xindi. They all did, really. But Trip was the only one on the ship with a more personal vendetta against them. Another reason Jonathan had been uncertain of his decision to take Trip along, as opposed to, say, T'Pol.

"Have you informed Starfleet?"

"No – "

Before he could finish, Trip was headed for the door. "What do you mean, no? We need to tell Admiral Forrest, right away – "

Archer blocked his access to the door, pushing him gently back. "Starfleet can't do anything about it, Trip. The Reptilians were spotted in the early 21st century."

"Oo-kaay," he drawled, taking it way better than sub-commander T'Pol ever would have. "Well, they're certainly not there to make friends, Cap'n! How can I help?"

T'Pol questioning his decisions was a definite asset and, Archer dared to say, she had become a friend. But it was kind of nice having someone trust your instincts, hands-down, no arguments.

"You can come with me," Archer told him without hesitation. "Daniels is sending me back to stop whatever the Reptilians are planning. But I can only take one person. I need someone I can trust, Trip. And there's no one I trust more than you."

A small sampling of the old Tucker greeted him for a moment as a wry grin spread across the exhausted features. "Aw, Cap'n, you're makin' me feel all warm 'n fuzzy inside."

"Shut up," Archer retorted, unable to completely hide his grin. "You're also the only history buff I know."

Tucker actually blushed, making Jonathan's heart warm by several degrees. It'd been a while since he'd seen that tinge of pink on his friend's cheeks. "You usually give me a hard time about that, sir."

"Not this time. You were at the top of your class in Starfleet's history program, Trip. And, who knows, even all those classic movie references you're always spouting off might end up coming in handy." Jonathan headed for the door. "Be ready at 0800 tomorrow. And do me a favour? Look up clothing people would have worn in 2006, okay? We don't want to stand out too much."

"You got it, Cap'n!" Then, as Archer stepped out into the hallway. "What time of year? Detroit, Michigan can be pretty cold in the winter. I'm thinking we'd stand out a bit in short shorts and a t-shirt."

Archer laughed. "Pretty sure we'd stand out in short shorts no matter what time of year or era we landed in, Trip." Tucker inclined his head in agreement. "But, you're right. I hadn't thought of that. Find a few different options for us. I'll ask Daniels and let you know what I find out."

The captain set out to make whatever preparations he needed to make. As the doors closed, Trip turned to his computer to do his part. Research fashion trends for 2006. Brush up on his Earth history.

* * *

Each wearing jeans, t-shirt, and a leather jacket – brown for Tucker, black for Archer – the two men made their way to the turbo lift. Daniels told Jonathan that they would be travelling to late May, 2006.

"The last time Daniels sent you to another century, you had a difficult time coming back. What's to keep that from happening to us?"

Archer held up a small, handheld box. "He gave me this. Said he'd return us whenever we signal him." He opened the box to reveal several other contraptions, each covered with tiny blue lights. "These are temporal tags," he explained. "We'll use these to bring back anything we find that doesn't belong there."

"You think these Reptilians are planning to leave behind some kind of weapon to destroy Earth. Before our ancestors created warp technology."

"It'd be a sure-fire way to ensure we never become a threat to them."

T'Pol was waiting for them just outside the turbo lift. "I am not certain this is a good idea, Captain."

"Your concern is noted. But this is something Trip and I need to do."

"Understood. Just remember," she began, ensuring both men's rapt attention was on her, "if, and I stress the word ' _if',_ time travel does in fact exist, it is extremely important that neither of you do anything to alter the way history is supposed to play out. If you do, the possible ramifications are endless."

"Got it," Archer said.

"Commander Tucker?" T'Pol intoned, knowing full well which one of the two men was the loose cannon.

"Butterfly effect," Trip replied. "Got it."

T'Pol's head inclined to the side, confusion colouring her features. This was one movie Archer remembered. Trip had made him watch it after his first encounter with Daniels. He'd had to admit it was a half decent movie.

Now, he silently chuckled at T'Pol's perplexed expression. Hiding his smile, he quickly translated for her. "He understands."

"Excellent," she said, continuing to peer up at Tucker.

Archer wondered, not for the first time, about the rumours surrounding these two. He usually didn't put much credence into gossip but this situation could call for an exception to the rule. He even watched them himself occasionally. Purely out of curiosity. As far as he was concerned, they weren't breaking any rules. If two members of his crew, especially when one of those members was his best friend, found happiness in each other's arms, Archer certainly wasn't going to stop them. Times were tough with the threat of this Xindi super-weapon, and everyone needed companionship once in a while.

He couldn't deny sensing chemistry between his two senior officers. And couldn't help but wonder if T'Pol had any insight into how Trip was doing with his grief over the death of his sister. He almost wanted to ask her when they got back but changed his mind just as fast. He'd find out from the source or not at all. He didn't deserve to know about Trip's new relationships until he'd mended their own.

As he and Tucker stepped onto the turbo lift, he realized he wouldn't want to be taking this trip with anyone else.

* * *

As soon as the turbo lift doors closed, Jonathan and Trip found themselves standing on the streets of downtown Detroit, Michigan – circa May, 2006.

"We just travelled 90 light years back to Earth in 2 seconds flat!" Trip exclaimed.

"And almost 150 years into the past," Jonathan added.

"I'm sorry, sir. I know, we're on an important mission 'n all…? But that's just friggin' COOL!"

Jon smirked at Trip's obvious excitement, something he hadn't seen in his friend's eyes since the attack on Earth. The captain never thought he'd say it, but time travel had gotten a bit old for him. For Tucker, though, this was a first. And, Archer had to admit, his best friend's ability to find a tiny bit of joy even in these potentially dire circumstances was contagious! They were best friend's, after all. When Trip was happy, Jonathan was happy.

Before the violent and unexpected death of his baby sister, Elizabeth, Charles "Trip" Tucker III had almost always been the one to find the silver lining. Up until this moment, Jonathan hadn't realized how much he had missed that fact. How much he had depended on Tucker's ability to raise his spirits in times of despair.

Archer had always thought that he would return the favour should their situations ever be reversed. Unfortunately, when Trip's world had been turned upside down by the loss of Elizabeth, the world itself had pretty much been in a state of devastation as well, and Archer had had to step up to bat for Humanity in a very big way. That responsibility had put a huge weight on his shoulders and he just hadn't felt able to handle anything else at the time.

It was sad but true, the needs of the many outweighed the needs of the few – or, in this case, the one. But couldn't he have set aside at least one evening to be a shoulder for his best friend who had done the same for him more times than he could count? His musings were interrupted by said best friend moving to stand shoulder to shoulder with him, undoubtedly sensing his captain's change in mood and offering some moral support – which only served to make Archer feel even worse about dropping the ball on their friendship six months previous.

"So, where to?"

Archer buried his feelings of guilt for the time being and consulted the handheld device containing the map Daniels had given him. After a brief moment, he said, "This way."

* * *

First thing they had to do was find a mode of transportation. Neither liked the idea of stealing a vehicle but there was really no way around it. Tucker spoke of this era having buses and taxi cabs but, based on his description, neither of those methods would work for their purposes. So, they had made the mutual decision to procure a car or truck illegally with the stipulation that they would compensate the owner generously for their, albeit unwitting, contribution to the 'Archer and Tucker try to save the world' cause.

For the first two vehicles they came across, the multi-purpose handheld device Daniels had given the captain revealed each one had a motion-activated security system. The third was unlocked but had what Tucker referred to as a 'boot' secured to its passenger side tire. The chief engineer explained that he'd seen in a couple movies how cops would do that because the vehicle had a number of outstanding tickets against it and the boot wouldn't be removed until after the tickets were paid in full.

Or, on other occasions, it was a contraption the less than scrupulous owner of the vehicle would use to work the system, making it _look_ like the boot was attached. therefore deterring passing police officers from fastening on another.

They confirmed the 'boot' was in-fact secured to the tire, then moved onto the next vehicle. The driver's side window was down and none of the tires had a boot secured to it but, when Archer reached through the window to open the door, a large dog took an extreme dislike to the would-be thieves, not caring in the least about their cause.

When the captain jumped back from the car, closing the door in the same instant, Trip chuckled: "Certainly ain't Porthos, is he?"

"No," Archer agreed. "No, he's not."

"Good guard dog, though."

"No doubt about that."

The next vehicle in question was a 4x4 truck. Unlocked. No boot. And, perhaps more importantly, no large, salivating dogs.

Only problem? No fuel, either. Or very little of it, anyway. So, they had to use one of the handheld contraptions Daniels gave them to procure some cash from a nearby ATM, as well.

Trip hadn't seen many movies that actually _showed_ people filling their vehicles up with gas, except for perhaps what he referred to as one of the best coming of age movies of all time – American Graffiti. But that was made over 30 years prior to their visit. Regardless, between the two of them, they'd figured it out and were soon on their way to scan for Reptilian bio signs throughout the city.

Unfortunately, Daniels' device only had a scanning radius of 3 kilometers. At Trip's suggestion, they decided to start in the downtown core, then spiral out from there. A method he had seen in yet another movie in his vast collection. Or was it a television show? Archer had no idea, but he was beginning to wonder about his theory that his friend's classic movie knowledge would help them in this mission… then they found the alien visitors and he mentally kicked himself for ever doubting the man.

He figured that maybe he should start trusting Trip's instincts the way Trip seemed to trust his.

* * *

The exterior of the abandoned warehouse seemed to offer very little intel. They knew all three Reptilians were inside and Archer had found a Neutronic power source coming from the first floor, but that was it. The two were looking for a way inside when Trip's voice came over the communicator – "A car's coming, sir."

Archer got the warning just in time to find cover as the vehicle pulled up to the gate and the driver was promptly admitted onto the property. He watched as an average sized man got out of the car, then extracted a wheelchair out of the… what was it that Trip called it?... trunk? Seemed innocuous enough. Until the man then dumped another unconscious man into the chair and wheeled him into the warehouse.

"Are you seein' what I'm seein', sir?"

"Yeah, Trip. I've got an idea. Let's fall back to the truck and regroup."

* * *

The plan they decided on was to follow the suspicious driver home, subdue him and somehow force him to tell them what they needed to know about the Reptilians' plan. Archer stood outside the apartment door waiting for the signal, still unable to believe that a member of his own species, a member of the human race he was fighting to protect, was actually assisting the Reptilians in achieving their goals!

He glanced down at the bio-scanner once again, confirming one person was still inside. He looked up again and his gaze found a tiny glass circle on the door and part of him wondered what its purpose could be.

"In position, sir," Trip said softly over the communicator.

"Copy that," Archer replied. "Be careful," he added.

"Guy looks like a weasel, Cap'n. I got this."

"There's no telling what kind of weapon he might have, Trip," Jonathan admonished. "Watch yourself." It wasn't too long before that he had almost lost Trip to an accident in engineering. And still had to watch an exact look alike die in his place.

Archer couldn't count the number of nights he'd woken from a nightmare that it had been the real Trip who had died that day. After spending hours trying to convince himself it had been just a dream, he would make up any reason he could to visit engineering the next day to ensure his dream had been wrong! Sometimes he even popped by the chief engineer's quarters in the middle of the night on one pretense or another, each time fighting the urge to hug his friend fiercely when he opened the door.

"Sorry, sir. I'll be careful," Trip replied, sounding sufficiently chagrined. "You do the same," he added.

Archer knocked sharply on the door. When there was no answer, he glanced down at the bio-scanner again. As they had predicted, the 'weasel' as Trip had called him, was headed for the far end of the apartment which, based on the exterior, would likely be a window. The blip disappeared from the screen. "He's coming to you," Jon called into the communicator.

He kicked at the door, much the same as he had seen done in some of Trip's favourite movies, but the wood held firm. Okay, harder than it looked, then. He tried again. The door splintered inward and Jonathan rushed inside, leaping over the clutter to get to the open window. He knew Trip was waiting at the bottom of the fire escape but he'd been serious when he said they had no idea what kind of weapon this guy might have.

So, concerned for his friend's safety, he raced down the steps after the weasel – which is what he would be calling him until he found out the guy's name… perhaps even after that because he couldn't really think of a more apt name. Suddenly, he heard the sound of flesh and bone meeting flesh and bone! He leaned over the handrail… and smiled.

He'd forgotten about Trip's mean right hook. Weasel was down for the count.

* * *

As the captain questioned Weasel, Trip made his way around the apartment, opening file folders which contained medical information and stats for various patients, eyeing the vials of Methohexital. He heard Weasel say that he was trying to make some extra cash by selling the stuff to people on the street. Using Daniels' scanning device, he accessed the drug's information:

Trip stepped over to the chair Weasel was tied to and read aloud the information on the screen:

"Methohexital sodium is a rapid, ultrashort-acting barbiturate anesthetic. Huh. Tell me, Weasel, why would anyone on the street want access to this type of drug?"

"Will you please stop calling me that," Weasel implored. "My name is Loomis. L-O-O-M-I-S."

Trip and Jonathan shared a look. "Nah," they intoned simultaneously.

"Weasel fits you better," Trip informed him.

"Ha ha," Loomis retorted. "Very funny."

"You make it a habit of climbing out your window when someone knocks on your door?" Archer asked.

"I don't like cops."

Trip, who had resumed his search of the chaotically decorated apartment, turned to make eye contact with Jonathan. They hadn't said anything about being cops but the misconception could certainly play to their advantage.

"Tell us about your friends on Carpenter Street," Archer ordered.

"I've never been to Carpenter Street."

Fed up with the circles Weasel was talking in, Archer stood up so abruptly his chair crashed to the floor. Nose to nose with the guy now, he bit out, "You were there an hour ago with a man in a wheelchair! Now, tell me who's inside that factory!"

"I told you, I don't know what you're talking about! I think it's time you find me a lawyer."

This was something else Archer had seen in some of Trip's favourite movies. "Untie him," he said, deciding to pay the appropriate part but only willing to take it so far.

Trip was standing in Weasel's bathroom, eyeing with distaste the pizza box sitting on the sink – _what kind of man_ _eats_ _in the bathroom,_ he thought to himself as he stepped over the clutter to do as the captain had , definitely the best name for this guy!

Thinking he had gotten his way and bullied his way out of the situation with the mention of _lawyer,_ Weasel rubbed at his wrists and said, "That's better."

But he barely had the words out of his mouth before his jaw was brought up close and personal with Archer's fist. Trip looked on, face grim, as Weasel was roughly hauled back to his feet and deposited unceremoniously back into the chair.

He knew the change in his captain was necessary given their ongoing mission to save Earth from the Xindi – didn't mean he had to like it. He sometimes worried about what lines Jonathan Archer had been forced to cross so far. That they'd all had to cross. Even more so about the lines they had yet to cross.

But he had to believe that there was a way back for all of them. A way for them to once again be the explorers they had set out to be.

The captain gave a nod to Trip who immediately caught on and tied Weasel firmly to the chair again.

"I didn't feel right doing that with you tied up," Jonathan revealed, bringing relief to Trip's heart. The Jonathan Archer he knew and loved was still in there. "Carpenter Street."

"You're not allowed to hit me."

"Untie him again," Archer told Trip.

"Wait! No, no. No!"

Apparently, the threat of another sock to the jaw was all it took to get Weasel talking. He explained that he'd never seen the man he'd been doing business with, having only dealt with him over the phone and a couple of times in the shadows. The guy was tall. That's all he knew.

He went on to describe his assignment to kidnap eight people for 'medical experiments', one person for each blood type. When he mentioned getting _paid_ five thousand dollars for each unwilling participant, double for the last three, Trip felt like punching the guy himself!

"He said he wasn't going to hurt any of them!"

Like any part of this 'assignment' sounded on the up and up. In order to keep himself from knocking Weasel out – again! – Trip turned and took a few steps away, breathing deep to calm his nerves, despite the distinct stench of the apartment. He only half heard the remainder of the conversation.

"You are going to do it again, if you want to stay out of prison."

"What are you talkin' about?"

"I'm your next patient."

Weasel was surprised.

Trip… was panicked. "Cap'n – " incorporating a rare move, he took Archer by the elbow and gently, yet insistently, led him over to the other side of the room. "I can't let you do this, sir," he whispered urgently.

"You can't _let_ me," Archer repeated, unable to hide the smirk on his face.

"You know what I mean, sir," Trip clarified, blushing just a little bit at his wording.

"You think it's not a good plan."

"No, sir. I think it's a great plan. Get a man on the inside. I just think that man should be me, not you."

"Trip, I appreciate your concern but – "

"C'mon, Cap'n. If anythin' were to happen… Enterprise needs her captain."

"She needs her chief engineer, too," Archer said softly. He paused to let that sink in before placing a hand on his best friend's shoulder, "Trip, if you seriously think I am going to let you go in there when I almost lost you just a week ago, you are sadly mistaken, my friend."

An emotional moment passed between them, one that could not be deciphered by the prying eyes of Weasel or anyone else. A moment that embodied a ten year friendship that held at its core an unbreakable bond and mutual respect, which had gradually evolved into one that felt more like a father-son relationship.

Going for the lighthearted approach, Trip said, "What if something goes wrong? How'm I supposed to carry you outta there? You got 3 kilos on me, remember?"

Jonathan grimaced at the not-so-subtle reminder of their weight difference but threw in a barb of his own – "It's all muscle, Trip. You just need to start spending more time at the gym," he joked. Seeing the remaining concern in Trip's eyes, he clapped him on the shoulder and said, "Nothing's going to go wrong."

* * *

From his spot on the floor in front of the passenger seat, Trip watched Weasel half carry, half drag the captain from the backseat to the wheelchair that he'd kept in his trunk to make the next transfer easier on his back. They had no idea if the Reptilians watched the move of each patient from the car into the factory or not. Better safe than sorry.

Trip laughed derisively at that statement. This plan was anything but safe for his best friend. He couldn't bear the thought of losing the man he had come to think of as a surrogate father – _whoa! Where had_ _that_ _little nugget come from?_ Jonathan Archer would be the first to point out that he wasn't near old enough to be Trip's father. Besides, Trip already had a dad. Granted, there had always been a little friction between them, especially since Elizabeth died and 'even being on a starship', Trip had been able to do nothing at all to stop it!

That was a dangerous road to go down, so Trip tried desperately to put an end to it. Elizabeth…

Thankfully, before Trip could finish his internal musings, Weasel returned and climbed back into the driver's seat. Bad timing – for Weasel, anyway.

Trip aimed the phaser pistol at him steadily, a hard glint to his eye. Part of him wanted the guy to try to make a break for it so he could experience the joy in shooting him. The pistol would be set to 'stun', of course. He didn't want to kill the guy. Just wanted to stun him.

Because the after-effects of the stun would leave him with one heck of a headache – Trip could attest to that personally.

"Drive," he ordered, the hard edge shared between his gaze and his voice now.

"Nice laser gun. You expect me to believe that's real?"

Needing this guy to drive so that Trip could remain out of sight, Trip forced himself to fire a test shot at the driver's side door instead of at the target he really wanted to shoot at. The smoking, char mark in the vinyl of the door was proof positive that the gun was _not_ a toy!

Weasel immediately put the car into gear and backed out of the lot, grumbling the whole time about the money he was going to miss out on. Was this guy for _real?!_ Once again, Trip had to resist the urge to just zap the guy on sheer principle alone.

* * *

As it turned out, things did go pretty smoothly. And Trip did get to shoot Weasel, but only after the guy warned the Reptilians of Trip's location by leaning on the car horn. Jonathan killed two of the Reptilians, and he and Trip worked together to stop the only remaining one from releasing the disease they had created to annihilate humanity.

Now, it was time to go back to their own time. But Trip didn't want to go back. Not yet.

They watched in silence as the Reptilian bodies vanished, presumably now waiting for them on Enterprise. Sensing something was wrong with his chief engineer, Archer turned concerned eyes on him. "What is it?"

"Nothin', Cap'n. I'm fine."

"Trip," Archer said, not buying the lie for a second.

Tucker sighed. May as well just say it. "In 148 years, Elizabeth dies."

For the second time that day, Archer reached out and put a hand on his shoulder.

"I know it's silly," Trip said, his chuckle humourless. "But at least, in 2006, she hasn't even been born yet." He kept his eyes focused on the ground at his feet, not wanting to appear weak in front of the man he looked up to the most. Best friend or not.

Archer squeezed the tense shoulder, trying to gain eye contact and failing. "We need to go back, Trip."

They stood in silence for a moment. Jonathan kept his hand on the younger man's shoulder, offering what support he could in the moments they had before signalling Daniels. He vowed silently to dole out even more TLC to his friend back on Enterprise. They just didn't have time right now. He ignored the voice emphatically telling him that fact wasn't going to change anytime soon.

"Yeah, I know," Trip admitted on another sigh.

The captain watched him bring his thumb and forefinger up to pinch the bridge of his nose, granting him the time he needed to pull himself together. Cursing himself for not just pulling his friend into his arms like he so badly yearned to do.

There. Just. Wasn't. Time.

And wasn't that ironic. They had just travelled through time to save the Earth. They should have all the time in the world.

Archer was in no rush to return to a home with a 4000 kilometer long crevice from Florida to Venezuela and 7 million fewer people in the population either.

But sometimes what is wanted and what is needed are two totally different things.

With that thought in mind, Archer pulled out the device Daniels gave him. Standing shoulder to shoulder with Trip, he pressed the button to signal their readiness to return home. Heavy hearts notwithstanding.

Neither of them were prepared for what happened next…

TBC

 _A/N Please review if you're interested in reading more...?_


	3. Chapter Two - Not Home Yet

CHAPTER THREE

After waiting in the room for thirty minutes for his friend to return, Jonathan gave up and went to find Trip himself. In the turbo lift – wait, no, elevator – ride down to the lobby, Jonathan considered the possibilities.

It was 3am, so there really weren't all that many options.

Trip could have gone for a midnight jog, which Jonathan knew Trip was prone to do in the hallways of the Enterprise, especially since the Xindi attack. Letting off some steam, most likely. Or, it was possible, that he'd just gone for a walk to clear his head. A lot _had_ happened over the past couple of days.

But neither theory just didn't sit right with him. Whether he was letting off steam or clearing his head, Trip knew better than to go wandering off on his own, particularly when Daniels could fix whatever issues he was having at the other end of the timeline, find the signalling device and whisk them back home again at any minute. And trying to figure out, if Daniels, a temporal agent no less, was fixing the timeline in the future, why it would have any bearing whatsoever on how long he and Trip were stuck here in 2006 - well, that just made his head hurt. Wouldn't it be like no time had passed at all?

If they were separated when Daniels finally got his act and the timeline together… Well, Archer didn't even want to think about that possibility. He was tempted to ditch the device but decided it would be worse for the device to return without either of them. At least, if he was taken home with the device, he could convince Daniels to send him back again to find Trip.

And, if that took a little extra… persuasion… so be it.

It had started to rain at some point during the night and was now coming down in torrents. But, instead of offering relief, the downpour only served to make the humidity even worse. So, just moments after stepping outside, Jonathan was soaked to the bone in both sweat and rain. He grimaced. Not a very comfortable feeling at all.

He looked up and down the street. Where was Trip?

Maybe he was overreacting. Maybe he was panicking over nothing.

After all, his chief engineer could just be out for a walk, needing some time alone. _'In the middle of the night, sir? In the rain? And the heat? You know how I feel about the heat, sir!'_

He could end up back at the hotel room any minute now. He could have even taken the other elevator up, while Archer was going down to the lobby! _'If you really believe that, Cap'n, I got an asteroid to sell you in the Solo system. Comes complete with long necked monster livin' inside."_

Jonathan was pretty sure he'd gotten that analogy mixed up and could just picture Trip laughing at him when this was all over; when both he and Trip were back safe and sound on the Enterprise.

Belatedly, he noticed the awning extending out past the edge of their hotel. He stepped back to stand beneath it while figuring out where to look first. He withdrew from his pocket the tourist map he had snatched up from a rack in the lobby. At that moment, a horn blared loudly into the night and he looked up in time to see a white delivery van pulling away from the curb.

He couldn't see the driver from this distance but, judging by the way he or she squealed their tires on departure, they were none too happy with the driver of the car who had sounded the horn – and promptly took the van's parking spot.

New Orleans was sure cultivating itself into quite an eccentric city from Archer's point of view.

Now, with the absence of the van, Jonathan's gaze came to rest on the small pub across the street. He considered the establishment carefully.

It wasn't flashy. There was no neon lights advertising its location, likely depending on reputation and word of mouth for clientele. Trip wasn't a big drinker, especially when on duty – or even _close_ to being on duty, Jonathan thought with a smile – but this would be the exact type of establishment he would visit if the desire presented itself.

He watched as a father and son walked past him. The father had his arm slung across his son's shoulders. The son was probably in his late teens or early twenties. He was enduring the physical contact but, when they stepped under a nearby streetlight, Jonathan noted the tinge of pink in the young man's cheeks. Whether he was embarrassed about the physical contact or something else entirely, the captain would never know.

He smiled softly at the scene as he flashed back to his chief engineer's birthday a few years earlier.

He had wanted to pull out all the stops for the young man who'd had his back right from the first moment they'd met! But, in retrospect, Jonathan realized his friend would have likely been happier if it had been just the two of them laughing over a few beers.

* * *

 _April 13th, 2151_

 _Trip's 32_ _nd_ _birthday wasn't until the following week but they'd decided to celebrate early because in just a few days the Enterprise would be departing on her maiden voyage to bring the injured Klingon, Klaang, back to his homeworld of Kronos._

 _The party was to consist of a much smaller group of people than the captain had wanted but which Trip had insisted on – the man never felt comfortable with too many people making a big deal about him, even on his own birthday!_

 _Other than the Guest of Honour, the attendees were going to be Malcolm, Travis, Doctor Phlox, Hoshi, and, party planner extraordinaire, the captain. Trip hadn't wanted to drink at all, claiming that he didn't want a hangover his first official day on Enterprise. But that wasn't going to be for another three days, so Archer was pretty sure there was another reason._

 _When they were on their way to the bar everyone had agreed would be the best meeting place, he finally confronted his friend. "So, why is it you're refusing to drink on your birthday?"_

" _I told you, Cap'n, I don't want – "_

" _A hangover on your first day, I know. But, see, as the captain, I happen to be privy to the fact that the Enterprise isn't scheduled to leave dock for another 72 hours."_

" _I ain't as young as I used to be, sir. Hangovers tend to last longer these days."_

" _Nope. Sorry. I'm not buyin' it. Try again, commander." Archer glanced at Trip just as they happened to walk under a streetlight, and could hardly believe his eyes. "Are – are you blushing?"_

 _Trip looked up at him sheepishly. "Why do people always ask that question? If I were blushing, which I am not, I certainly wouldn't be able to see myself, now would I?"_

" _You_ _are_ _blushing," Jonathan said, grinning profusely now._

" _Shuddup… sir," Trip grumbled._

 _The comment only served to make Jonathan laugh even harder! After all, it wasn't very often that the easy going, confident Commander Charles "Trip" Tucker III felt self-conscious about anything, let alone something as innocuous as getting some drinks with friends… Unless… A light bulb flashed on inside Jonathan's head and he sobered a bit. "You're nervous that you're going to embarrass yourself!"_

 _Another chagrined glance. "It's bad enough that I barely know these people, sir. I'm also gonna be their commanding officer on Earth's first warp five starship! How are they gonna feel about takin' orders from someone they just saw beltin' out 'I'm a Survivor' in Karaoke?"_

 _Jonathan laughed again, clapping Trip on the farthest shoulder, then hooking his arm around his neck and pulling him in for a sideways hug. "I promise, no karaoke! Okay?"_

 _Surprisingly, Trip endured the hug, likely because he was too focused on other things to notice. "That's not the point, an' you know it."_

" _All right," Jonathan said, keeping his arm where it was for as long as would be allowed. "What if I promise to keep an eye on you?"_

" _I don't need a babysitter," Trip gruffly declared, just now noticing the captain's one-armed embrace and shrugging him off._

" _That's not what I meant," Jonathan reassured firmly, knowing how important Trip's independence was to him._

 _His father, Charles Tucker II, was a very strong and independent man and Trip strove to be like him in that respect. After Trip had told his dad that Captain Jonathan Archer had chosen him to be his chief engineer, a card had been sent with a congratulatory 'speech' written inside._

 _Jonathan had gone to pick his friend up for a celebratory night out after all the papers had been signed, making the assignment to Chief Engineer of the Enterprise official, only to have Trip tell him that he'd rather stay home, claiming to not be exhausted. Seeing something amiss in his friend's eyes, Jonathan had decided without hesitation that they should simply watch one of the many movie's Trip had saved on his computer and order in a pizza._

 _Reluctantly, Trip had agreed. Archer couldn't remember the movie, but he did remember that it had been a really good night. They'd talked and laughed more than they had in a long while._

 _But, at one point, when Trip had gone to the kitchen to get another couple beers for them, Jonathan had put his feet up, accidentally knocking something off the coffee table. And that had been when he saw the card._

 _It hadn't been his intention to read it but, after getting a glimpse of a couple words, he'd figured it was a typical proud papa congratulating his son on his accomplishments. Imagine his surprise when what he read was nothing like that at all. In fact, there was nothing 'typical' about it._

 _Trip had no idea the captain saw the card, and Jonathan had no intention of telling him, but, to this day, the words scrawled on the inside of that card continued to burn a hole in Jonathan Archer's heart:_

" _Son, the most important thing to remember in life is to never, ever show weakness! Around anyone! Because, I guarantee you, the people with a lower rank than you are gonna be chompin' at the bit to take your job away from you! And your superiors are just gonna be lookin' for a reason to replace you! You need to be constantly on guard. Constantly. ~Dad"_

 _No 'I love you'. No 'Best Wishes'. The word 'Congratulations' wasn't even in that spiel. It had just been so impersonal. So… callous._

 _And something told him that similar speeches had been given for each of Trip's major achievements to date – when he had entered Starfleet; when he had graduated at the top of his class; even when he'd been promoted to commander._

 _Archer believed Trip's father was just looking out for his son's best interests… in his own unrelenting way. He had to believe that. Because the alternative was just unthinkable. Either way, it was quite a weight to be placing on your son's shoulders._

 _Jonathan Archer had silently vowed long ago to do his best to help Trip carry that weight. He ran a couple steps to catch up with his friend._

" _Trip, all I meant was that I'll run interference if it looks like you're about to do something you'll regret. Okay?"_

 _His friend studied him, gauging not so much his honesty as his sincerity. Apparently, he was satisfied with what he saw. He offered up a curt nod, then they continued along their way to the bar in companionable silence – with absolutely no idea of the adversity that was about to befall them._

* * *

Jonathan knew without a doubt that the man he had become best friends with, and had even come to think of as a surrogate son, would never risk a mission to have a few drinks. And he'd never get drunk alone, with no one to watch his back because, as much as he tried to hide it, he really did care what certain people thought of him.

And, to Jonathan's dismay, Trip had him pretty high on that list of people.

The first was no longer a concern. It had become abundantly clear that their mission had ended when they'd been teleported not a hundred and fifty years but only little over one year into the future – not to mention close to 2000 kilometers from Detroit – so there was nothing to risk in that regard.

However, personal safety was still an issue. Commander Charles "Trip" Tucker III was a grown man, and a very capable one at that. Jonathan had no doubt that Trip could take care of himself. He certainly didn't want his friend to get the impression that he thought otherwise. But Jonathan Archer's well-honed instincts were screaming at him that something was wrong!

So, then, why was he still standing there like a drowned rat caught in yet another deluge?

Sadly, a lot of things had changed since Elizabeth's death and Trip Tucker's self-worth was one of them. Trip had always put the needs of the people he cared about – especially, the captain's – before his own but he took that tendency to a whole new level, these days.

So, if Trip _was_ in some sort of danger, the last thing the chief engineer would want would be Jonathan Archer risking his own life to rescue him!

Well, that was just tough! Because the value _Jonathan_ placed on Trip Tucker's life hadn't changed one iota.

Refusing to waste another minute, he abandoned the protection of the awning and headed across the street.

TBC

 _A/N Crossover characters begin in the next chapter, I promise. Chris LaSalle makes his first appearance around mid chapter. Then Chapter Five will be devoted to LaSalle and Pride._


	4. Chapter Three - The Search Begins

CHAPTER THREE

After waiting in the room for thirty minutes for his friend to return, Jonathan gave up and went to find Trip himself. In the turbo lift – wait, no, elevator – ride down to the lobby, Jonathan considered the possibilities.

It was 3am, so there really weren't all that many options.

Trip could have gone for a midnight jog, which Jonathan knew Trip was prone to do in the hallways of the Enterprise, especially since the Xindi attack. Letting off some steam, most likely. Or, it was possible, that he'd just gone for a walk to clear his head. A lot _had_ happened over the past couple of days.

But neither theory just didn't sit right with him. Whether he was letting off steam or clearing his head, Trip knew better than to go wandering off on his own, particularly when Daniels could fix whatever issues he was having at the other end of the timeline, find the signalling device and whisk them back home again at any minute. And trying to figure out, if Daniels, a temporal agent no less, was fixing the timeline in the future, why it would have any bearing whatsoever on how long he and Trip were stuck here in 2006 - well, that just made his head hurt. Wouldn't it be like no time had passed at all?

If they were separated when Daniels finally got his act and the timeline together… Well, Archer didn't even want to think about that possibility. He was tempted to ditch the device but decided it would be worse for the device to return without either of them. At least, if he was taken home with the device, he could convince Daniels to send him back again to find Trip.

And, if that took a little extra… persuasion… so be it.

It had started to rain at some point during the night and was now coming down in torrents. But, instead of offering relief, the downpour only served to make the humidity even worse. So, just moments after stepping outside, Jonathan was soaked to the bone in both sweat and rain. He grimaced. Not a very comfortable feeling at all.

He looked up and down the street. Where was Trip?

Maybe he was overreacting. Maybe he was panicking over nothing.

After all, his chief engineer could just be out for a walk, needing some time alone. _'In the middle of the night, sir? In the rain? And the heat? You know how I feel about the heat, sir!'_

He could end up back at the hotel room any minute now. He could have even taken the other elevator up, while Archer was going down to the lobby! _'If you really believe that, Cap'n, I got an asteroid to sell you in the Solo system. Comes complete with long necked monster livin' inside."_

Jonathan was pretty sure he'd gotten that analogy mixed up and could just picture Trip laughing at him when this was all over; when both he and Trip were back safe and sound on the Enterprise.

Belatedly, he noticed the awning extending out past the edge of their hotel. He stepped back to stand beneath it while figuring out where to look first. He withdrew from his pocket the tourist map he had snatched up from a rack in the lobby. At that moment, a horn blared loudly into the night and he looked up in time to see a white delivery van pulling away from the curb.

He couldn't see the driver from this distance but, judging by the way he or she squealed their tires on departure, they were none too happy with the driver of the car who had sounded the horn – and promptly took the van's parking spot.

New Orleans was sure cultivating itself into quite an eccentric city from Archer's point of view.

Now, with the absence of the van, Jonathan's gaze came to rest on the small pub across the street. He considered the establishment carefully.

It wasn't flashy. There was no neon lights advertising its location, likely depending on reputation and word of mouth for clientele. Trip wasn't a big drinker, especially when on duty – or even _close_ to being on duty, Jonathan thought with a smile – but this would be the exact type of establishment he would visit if the desire presented itself.

He watched as a father and son walked past him. The father had his arm slung across his son's shoulders. The son was probably in his late teens or early twenties. He was enduring the physical contact but, when they stepped under a nearby streetlight, Jonathan noted the tinge of pink in the young man's cheeks. Whether he was embarrassed about the physical contact or something else entirely, the captain would never know.

He smiled softly at the scene as he flashed back to his chief engineer's birthday a few years earlier.

He had wanted to pull out all the stops for the young man who'd had his back right from the first moment they'd met! But, in retrospect, Jonathan realized his friend would have likely been happier if it had been just the two of them laughing over a few beers.

* * *

 _April 13th, 2151_

 _Trip's 32_ _nd_ _birthday wasn't until the following week but they'd decided to celebrate early because in just a few days the Enterprise would be departing on her maiden voyage to bring the injured Klingon, Klaang, back to his homeworld of Kronos._

 _The party was to consist of a much smaller group of people than the captain had wanted but which Trip had insisted on – the man never felt comfortable with too many people making a big deal about him, even on his own birthday!_

 _Other than the Guest of Honour, the attendees were going to be Malcolm, Travis, Doctor Phlox, Hoshi, and, party planner extraordinaire, the captain. Trip hadn't wanted to drink at all, claiming that he didn't want a hangover his first official day on Enterprise. But that wasn't going to be for another three days, so Archer was pretty sure there was another reason._

 _When they were on their way to the bar everyone had agreed would be the best meeting place, he finally confronted his friend. "So, why is it you're refusing to drink on your birthday?"_

" _I told you, Cap'n, I don't want – "_

" _A hangover on your first day, I know. But, see, as the captain, I happen to be privy to the fact that the Enterprise isn't scheduled to leave dock for another 72 hours."_

" _I ain't as young as I used to be, sir. Hangovers tend to last longer these days."_

" _Nope. Sorry. I'm not buyin' it. Try again, commander." Archer glanced at Trip just as they happened to walk under a streetlight, and could hardly believe his eyes. "Are – are you blushing?"_

 _Trip looked up at him sheepishly. "Why do people always ask that question? If I were blushing, which I am not, I certainly wouldn't be able to see myself, now would I?"_

" _You_ _are_ _blushing," Jonathan said, grinning profusely now._

" _Shuddup… sir," Trip grumbled._

 _The comment only served to make Jonathan laugh even harder! After all, it wasn't very often that the easy going, confident Commander Charles "Trip" Tucker III felt self-conscious about anything, let alone something as innocuous as getting some drinks with friends… Unless… A light bulb flashed on inside Jonathan's head and he sobered a bit. "You're nervous that you're going to embarrass yourself!"_

 _Another chagrined glance. "It's bad enough that I barely know these people, sir. I'm also gonna be their commanding officer on Earth's first warp five starship! How are they gonna feel about takin' orders from someone they just saw beltin' out 'I'm a Survivor' in Karaoke?"_

 _Jonathan laughed again, clapping Trip on the farthest shoulder, then hooking his arm around his neck and pulling him in for a sideways hug. "I promise, no karaoke! Okay?"_

 _Surprisingly, Trip endured the hug, likely because he was too focused on other things to notice. "That's not the point, an' you know it."_

" _All right," Jonathan said, keeping his arm where it was for as long as would be allowed. "What if I promise to keep an eye on you?"_

" _I don't need a babysitter," Trip gruffly declared, just now noticing the captain's one-armed embrace and shrugging him off._

" _That's not what I meant," Jonathan reassured firmly, knowing how important Trip's independence was to him._

 _His father, Charles Tucker II, was a very strong and independent man and Trip strove to be like him in that respect. After Trip had told his dad that Captain Jonathan Archer had chosen him to be his chief engineer, a card had been sent with a congratulatory 'speech' written inside._

 _Jonathan had gone to pick his friend up for a celebratory night out after all the papers had been signed, making the assignment to Chief Engineer of the Enterprise official, only to have Trip tell him that he'd rather stay home, claiming to not be exhausted. Seeing something amiss in his friend's eyes, Jonathan had decided without hesitation that they should simply watch one of the many movie's Trip had saved on his computer and order in a pizza._

 _Reluctantly, Trip had agreed. Archer couldn't remember the movie, but he did remember that it had been a really good night. They'd talked and laughed more than they had in a long while._

 _But, at one point, when Trip had gone to the kitchen to get another couple beers for them, Jonathan had put his feet up, accidentally knocking something off the coffee table. And that had been when he saw the card._

 _It hadn't been his intention to read it but, after getting a glimpse of a couple words, he'd figured it was a typical proud papa congratulating his son on his accomplishments. Imagine his surprise when what he read was nothing like that at all. In fact, there was nothing 'typical' about it._

 _Trip had no idea the captain saw the card, and Jonathan had no intention of telling him, but, to this day, the words scrawled on the inside of that card continued to burn a hole in Jonathan Archer's heart:_

" _Son, the most important thing to remember in life is to never, ever show weakness! Around anyone! Because, I guarantee you, the people with a lower rank than you are gonna be chompin' at the bit to take your job away from you! And your superiors are just gonna be lookin' for a reason to replace you! You need to be constantly on guard. Constantly. ~Dad"_

 _No 'I love you'. No 'Best Wishes'. The word 'Congratulations' wasn't even in that spiel. It had just been so impersonal. So… callous._

 _And something told him that similar speeches had been given for each of Trip's major achievements to date – when he had entered Starfleet; when he had graduated at the top of his class; even when he'd been promoted to commander._

 _Archer believed Trip's father was just looking out for his son's best interests… in his own unrelenting way. He had to believe that. Because the alternative was just unthinkable. Either way, it was quite a weight to be placing on your son's shoulders._

 _Jonathan Archer had silently vowed long ago to do his best to help Trip carry that weight. He ran a couple steps to catch up with his friend._

" _Trip, all I meant was that I'll run interference if it looks like you're about to do something you'll regret. Okay?"_

 _His friend studied him, gauging not so much his honesty as his sincerity. Apparently, he was satisfied with what he saw. He offered up a curt nod, then they continued along their way to the bar in companionable silence – with absolutely no idea of the adversity that was about to befall them._

* * *

Jonathan knew without a doubt that the man he had become best friends with, and had even come to think of as a surrogate son, would never risk a mission to have a few drinks. And he'd never get drunk alone, with no one to watch his back because, as much as he tried to hide it, he really did care what certain people thought of him.

And, to Jonathan's dismay, Trip had him pretty high on that list of people.

The first was no longer a concern. It had become abundantly clear that their mission had ended when they'd been teleported not a hundred and fifty years but only little over one year into the future – not to mention close to 2000 kilometers from Detroit – so there was nothing to risk in that regard.

However, personal safety was still an issue. Commander Charles "Trip" Tucker III was a grown man, and a very capable one at that. Jonathan had no doubt that Trip could take care of himself. He certainly didn't want his friend to get the impression that he thought otherwise. But Jonathan Archer's well-honed instincts were screaming at him that something was wrong!

So, then, why was he still standing there like a drowned rat caught in yet another deluge?

Sadly, a lot of things had changed since Elizabeth's death and Trip Tucker's self-worth was one of them. Trip had always put the needs of the people he cared about – especially, the captain's – before his own but he took that tendency to a whole new level, these days.

So, if Trip _was_ in some sort of danger, the last thing the chief engineer would want would be Jonathan Archer risking his own life to rescue him!

Well, that was just tough! Because the value _Jonathan_ placed on Trip Tucker's life hadn't changed one iota.

Refusing to waste another minute, he abandoned the protection of the awning and headed across the street.

TBC

 _A/N Crossover characters begin in the next chapter, I promise. Chris LaSalle makes his first appearance around mid chapter. Then Chapter Five will be devoted to LaSalle and Pride._


	5. Chapter Four - Why Are You Talkin

_A/N Christopher LaSalle circa 2006 lurks in this here chapter - around the middle! :-) This takes place about a year after the flashbacks in NCIS: New Orleans Season 2, Ep. 10 "Billy and the Kid". LaSalle/Pride interaction and h/c in the next chappie, I promise!_

 _A/N #2 Trip is missing, the hunt is on, but I didn't want Trip to be missing from the story, as well. But instead of giving the mystery away, I've been throwing in some flashbacks (which will provide even more possibilities for more Archer/Trip h/c)! XD_

CHAPTER FOUR

As Jonathan stepped through the doors, he saw the bartender counting the cash in the till and placing it into a bag labeled 'Deposit'. He couldn't know for sure, but there didn't seem to be all that much money in the bag when it was sealed up and slipped into the inside pocket of the bartender's jacket. Slow night, maybe?

The interior of the bar was pretty much as he'd expected – not the least bit pretentious or touristy. Wooden stools with a natural finish lined the long pine countertop that stretched in an "L", with the short end closest to the door. At the other end, an opening in the wall led to what appeared to be a kitchen.

The lighting was just right to suit the casual atmosphere, and the wall behind the bar was lined with liquor that looked to be affordable but not cheap. At the far end of the room was a small low-rise stage platform with a piano.

The one thing he hadn't expected, but maybe should have given what he'd discovered about Hurricane Katrina, was the massive water damage to the walls and flooring. Just like with so many other areas in the city, repairs were clearly underway here, as well.

Nevertheless, Jonathan found himself wishing that they had this type of establishment in the 22nd century. It felt homey. And it was indeed _exactly_ the kind of setting Trip would appreciate – particularly when mourning his baby sister.

"Nice place," Archer commented.

The bartender glanced up from his counting, a grateful kind of surprise in his gaze. "Thanks. Not sure how much she'll be around, though."

"I'm sorry to hear that." Jonathan inched his way toward the bar. Small talk in a different century, where you're not supposed to 'contaminate' the current society, was not as easy as it some might think. "This seems like a place a guy could really wind down after a long day." As he got closer, he saw the nametag on the bartender's shirt – Logan.

Holding Logan's gaze for a long moment, Jonathan was just starting to think he had misspoken for the second time in as many days when the guy gave him a grim smile. "People don't come to bars to 'wind down' anymore, or so my financial advisor tells me." Seemingly caught up in a memory, he said, "I can remember coming here as a kid with my dad. Every afternoon, there was a woman who would sit up there, " he pointed to the piano, "and tickle those ivories like no one I'd ever heard before. She had the voice of an angel, too." His voice had taken on a definite wistful quality.

Archer gently cleared his throat, yanking Logan's attention back to the here and now. "Sorry about that. Sometimes I get a little lost in the past, y'know?"

"You have no idea," Jonathan sincerely stated.

"Anyway, what can I do for you?"

Jonathan stepped up to the bar. With no other choice, the captain had to risk the repercussions of interfering with the development of Earth's current society and culture by showing a picture of Trip on his Starfleet issued tablet. "Have you seen this man?"

Barely hearing Archer's question, Logan gazed at the tablet with a mixture of curiosity and awe. "Hey, man, what is that? I heard a rumour that Apple is going to be releasing a tablet version of their MacBook computer by the end of this year... Dude! Did you score the assignment as Beta Tester for Apple?"

Anxious to move on to whether or not the bartender had seen Trip, Archer said, "Yes, yes, that's right. I'm the, uh, Beta Tester for Apple." Why an apple needed a beta test, he had no clue, but he didn't have time for that. "Now, about my friend…?"

Reluctantly, Logan dragged his eyes away from the buttons and the various bells and whistles visible on the device, and focused on the holographic image hovering above the screen. He thought for a moment and the captain could almost hear the gears turning inside the other man's head. Finally:

"Yeah… yeah, I remember him. He was sitting right over there," he said, pointing to the far end of the bar, closest to the door.

He went on to explain that he hadn't had all that much time to talk to him because they had been uncharacteristically busy that night due to people wanting to have a drink or three in memory of lost loved ones on the anniversary of their deaths.

Trying not to make the obvious correlation between Trip and the citizens of New Orleans, Jonathan asked how many of those drinks his friend had consumed.

"Some people come here to drown their sorrows. Others feel like they don't have anyone else to turn to, so they sip their drink and sit amongst strangers. For the camaraderie, if you will." He pointed to the picture. "Your friend was a combination of the two. He threw back a few shots of tequila, then nursed three-fingers of whiskey for the remainder of the night. At least, until those two outta-towners came up and sat beside him."

"Out of towners?"

Logan shrugged. "Yeah. I looked back a few minutes later and he was gone."

"What about the other two men?"

Logan cleaned the top of the bar with a damp rag as he ran through the events of the hours leading up to closing time. Huh. "You know what? I don't remember seeing them again, either. You don't think they did anything to your friend, do you?"

"At this point, I'd only be guessing, Logan, but it is possible."

"Oh, man, I am so sorry! I mean, something didn't seem right about those guys from the get-go, but there are so many tourists that come in and outta this town on a regular basis, it's kinda hard to tell the normal from the crazy, y'know?"

Jonathan assured Logan it wasn't his fault, then thanked him and resumed his search. Part of him had wanted to grab the guy by the front of his shirt and shake him until his teeth fell out. But that urge only lasted a second before he realized Logan wasn't to blame for this situation. Archer couldn't hold anyone but himself accountable for Trip's predicament!

'… _Others feel like they don't have anyone else to turn to…'_

The captain's heart broke at the realization that Trip felt like he couldn't come to him. But he hadn't given him any reason to think otherwise in the past months, had he? He could hear Trip's voice in his head: _'Don't beat yourself up, Cap'n. You had a lot on yer plate."_

"We all did," Jonathan muttered to himself in argument.

' _Yeah,' inner-voice Trip conceded. 'But 'specially you, sir. You had a whole planet countin' on you to not only catch the Xindi but to stop 'em from attackin' again.'_

It seemed Trip couldn't resist coming to the captain's defense even when he wasn't physically there. He was always so quick to forgive when Jonathan failed him, regardless of whether or not that failure resulted in Trip himself getting hurt!

* * *

 _April 13th, 2151_

 _The bar was crowded to say the least. Wall to wall people – some on the dance floor, some at the bar, some hunkered around their tables in conversation, trying to be heard over the music. The captain had reserved a back section for the party, which Trip was grateful for, but it felt awkward nevertheless._

 _He was still in the getting-to-know-you phase with everyone at their table but Captain Archer, who was currently nowhere to be seen. Trip smirked when he thought back to the pretty young lady who had eyed the captain from the crowd. Nah, he knew exactly where Captain Archer was spending his time. And good for him! It had been a while since he and Erika had parted ways. Trip didn't know the whole story behind that relationship but his friend didn't have to say much for Trip to be able to tell that the man's heart had been broken._

 _Taking a sip from his beer, he engaged in only semi-awkward conversation with Hoshi, Malcolm, Travis and Doctor Phlox. He looked up just as a few of the guys from his Starfleet class came through the door._

" _Can you guys excuse me for a minute, please?"_

" _Sure, no problem, Commander," Hoshi told him with a shy smile._

" _Take your time, Trip," Travis said, with Phlox nodding in agreement._

 _Malcolm was too busy flirting with their waitress, and she with him, to notice the conversation._

 _With a knowing smirk, Trip approached his old buddies, pausing mid-step as Stephanie Ryerson stepped into the bar and joined them. Also an old classmate… and ex-girlfriend. He sighed inwardly but continued on to greet the small group. "Hey, guys! How's it goin'?"_

" _Trip!" They hollered out in unison. All except Stephanie who stood shell-shocked at the sight of him._

" _What are you guys doin' here?" Trip asked._

" _Partying," Joey Calhoun announced. "What else?"_

 _The guy had a point. Trip embraced all of them one by one, the hug with Stephanie being hesitant and awkward but doable._

" _Hi, Trip," she whispered in his ear. "It's good to see you."_

" _You, too, Steph," he said, trying his best to mean it._

 _Stephanie had gotten a little… clingy, towards the end of their relationship. Trip had tried talking to her, telling her that he needed space to do his own thing – which included studying just as much as hanging out with his friends. She hadn't taken it too well._

 _Joey clapped him on the back, pulling his attention away from Stephanie. "I heard about your assignment! Congratulations, man!"_

" _Thanks, Joey! I appreciate that!"_

 _At that moment, Harry Thurstenhower IV, six foot three, solid as a brick house, and face like a super model, joined the group. He smile sweetly at Stephanie, all but ignoring Trip's presence._

" _Hey, Harry," Joey called out, "did you hear about Trip's new assignment?"_

 _The hulk laughed derisively. "Amazing what kind of assignments you can get when you're willing to suck up to the brass."_

 _Trip clenched his fists so hard, he was pretty sure he chipped a tooth. People had always read too much into his friendship with Jonathan Archer. They just couldn't understand that the two of them had a connection. Captain Archer was not only his best friend, the one person he knew he could count on no matter what, he was also like family._

 _Harry's appearance had Trip thinking back to the card his dad had sent him to congratulate him on his assignment to Enterprise. He and Harry used to be best friends, they'd even grown up together. But as soon as they started Starfleet, Harry's competitive streak had reached new heights, putting a significant strain on their bond. When Trip graduated with higher honours than Harry, the friendship had ended completely._

 _He felt a hand squeeze his shoulder. "Don't listen to him," Joey told him, glaring at Harry who was now giving them both his back and whispering sweet nothings into Stephanie's ear, having no idea that her gaze was focused on Trip. "He's just upset that it wasn't him."_

 _It was true. Jealous of Trip's accomplishments, Mr. Thurstenhower IV had ended up being the epitome of what Trip's dad had warned him about since high school graduation. You can't truly trust anyone because, given the right circumstances, the right motivation, everyone will let you down._

" _He totally failed the 'How to Make Friends and Influence People' class. You got a zero on the oral exam, didn't you, Harry?" The hulk spun around to face Joey, fire in his eyes. "Oh, wait, my mistake, that was the Personality test!"_

 _Harry continued to glare at Joey but didn't make a move, making Trip wonder why. As Harry stormed off with Stephanie in tow, Joey explained, "I caught him cheating on the final exam for Sociology."_

" _And he's still afraid you'll spill the beans?"_

 _Joey nodded, unable to hide the smirk on his face._

" _But we graduated years ago."_

" _Yeah, but he's terrified I'll tell his_ _dad_ _and he'll lose not only his allowance but his inheritance, too!"_

 _The two both started laughing, despite the knives they could still feel being glared into their backs from across the room._

" _So, where are you sitting? You wanna join us?"_

" _Naw, I don't think that'd be a good idea."_

" _You mean because of Harry? We'll ditch 'im. He's a jerk anyway."_

 _Trip chuckled. "No, no. I'm actually here with some friends." He pointed over to his table, surprised to find only Hoshi sitting there now._

" _You sly dog," Joey exclaimed, slapping him on the shoulder once again._

" _What?"_

" _Well, I mean, she's what, seven or eight years younger than you?"_

 _Not catching Joey's meaning, Trip said, "I don't know how old she is, I never asked."_

" _Oh man," Joey laughed at him. "Don't you know, you're always supposed to ask!"_

 _They shook hands and embraced one last time._

 _As Joey started to walk away, a light bulb finally flicked on in Trip's head. Joey thought he and Hoshi were...? "Wait, no, it's not like that – "_

"Riight! Sure _, Trip! I don't want to keep you and your lady friend apart!"_

" _Joey, wait, it's not – "_

" _I'm really happy for you, man! Congratulations on your new assignment!"_

 _And then he disappeared into the crowd. Trip shook his head with a chuckle. Him and Hoshi? Seriously? I mean, yeah, she was pretty, sure. But way too young for Trip! What could they possibly have in common?_

 _He felt kind of bad that he hadn't been able to set Joey straight but what did it really matter? They were all leaving space dock in three days, anyway. Let Joey have his stupid little fantasy. What harm could it cause?_

 _Trip had no idea that, that right there would end up being the million dollar question._

* * *

Glancing at his watch, Jonathan was disheartened to see that it was already close to 9pm. Trip had been missing for between eighteen and twenty four hours now!

Jonathan now knew that he had at least left the hotel room of his own volition but with no idea what time he had left the bar, the captain could only go by the time he'd gone to sleep and the time he'd woken up and discovered Trip was gone – 9pm last night to 3am this morning! A six hour window!

Archer had started his search at about 3:30am and, in all that time, he hadn't found any clue as to Trip's whereabouts. Not a single one! He could be hurt, or worse. Trip never did well in the heat, and this humidity made it even more dangerous! The consistent rain wouldn't be doing him any favours, either! Jonathan had paused his search throughout the city to purchase an umbrella; Trip likely wouldn't have had that luxury.

The search had been long and tedious, with Archer getting more and more frustrated with each passing minute! He had no idea where his starting point should be, how was he supposed to find the correct route to the finish line? How was he supposed to find _Trip_!?

Wait a minute. _Starting point_! That was it! He'd go to the first place he and Trip had visited after arriving here – the diner! It wasn't much but it was something, and Jonathan latched onto it like a lifeline!

As he made his way hurriedly down the block, he was so lost in thoughts of Trip, he didn't notice the squeal of tires as a police car pulled up to the curb next to him. He also failed to hear both the slamming door and the voice calling out someone's name from behind him.

"Pride. Pride!"

Jonathan just made it to the door of the diner and closed his umbrella when someone grabbed his arm and spun him around, not with an excessive amount of force but not gently either. Jonathan regarded the young man with confusion.

He looked to be in about his mid-twenties. But, even with the rivulets of water running off the brim of the ball cap which read 'New Orleans Police' on the front, Jonathan could see that the eyes were haunted like those of someone older – containing a lot more experience with the more abysmal, detestable, and wretched side of humanity than most men his age.

Being careful not to instigate another unfortunate conversation like the one with the waitress at this very diner the day before, Jonathan said simply, "Can I help you?"

"Can you help me? Can you _help me_?! Yeah, Pride, you can help me! You can stop askin' 'round the department about me!"

"I'm, uh, sorry…?" Jonathan said awkwardly. Then added more confidently, "It won't happen again." He needed to get back to searching for Trip because he couldn't shake the feeling that he was on a timetable here. He just couldn't put his finger on _why_.

The longer Trip stayed missing, the less likely it was that his little excursion was voluntary… But it was still possible. After all, he had told Jonathan that he hadn't really wanted to go home yet and, despite Jonathan's protective streak, Trip Tucker was still a grown man who had a right to make his own decisions - however, to be completely honest, Jonathan was not above knocking his friend out and folding him over his shoulder to take him back to their own century if he had to!

Separating while in a strange era, when they could be brought home at any moment without warning was dangerous, to say the least, and Trip wouldn't risk it. Not when it was risking the captain at the same time. Because he would know better than anyone that Captain Jonathan Archer doesn't leave anyone behind – especially when that someone is Commander Charles 'Trip' Tucker III… although, the chief of engineering may not be aware of that last part.

Besides, Jonathan's gut told him Trip's reluctance to return home was not the reason for his disappearance… and it certainly wasn't the reason for Jonathan's unease. _Something_ was nipping at his brain. Something that would give him a clue as to where to look. But he was just so exhausted, he was missing whatever that _something_ was…

He was pulled out of his reverie by the police officer, who was speaking again and peering up at him strangely. "Why're you talkin' so funny," the younger man asked, clearly under the impression that he knew him.

Did he and Trip both have doppelgangers in this century? For some reason, that thought gave him pause but before he was able to consider it any further, the volatile young man in front of him seemed to lose his patience.

"You know what, never mind? I'm through playin' your little mind games or riddles or whatever you wanna call 'em! Vice does not take kindly to nosey people, NCIS agents or not, comin' in and strikin' up conversation with whomever they choose. Jus' because we have a drink together once in a while does not give you the right to interfere in my life, Pride! Got it?"

Jonathan felt the officer's index finger jabbed into his chest to punctuate the final two words, then watched as the young man, clearly flabbergasted andoddly angered by his silence, stalked back to his car, got in behind the wheel, slammed the door and drove off.

Feeling bad for whomever this 'Pride' person was, Jonathan stepped into the diner, thankful to be out of the rain and humidity. A different waitress was on duty, so he just pulled out the tablet again and asked if she had seen Trip at all through the night.

Too tired to really notice the tablet, or just not a tech guru like the owner of the bar, she made no mention of the technology. She focused on the picture instead, her eagerness to help warming Jonathan's heart by several degrees. "He's cute," she said, matter-of-factly. Then her eyes met his and shone with concern. "Are you his dad? Cuz, if you are, the good looks run in the family."

That got a dry chuckle from him. Insult and flattery rolled into one statement. True, he looked at Trip as a surrogate son, but did he really look old enough to be the younger man's father?

His hesitation made her realize what she had said. "Oh, no. I am so sorry. That was supposed to be a compliment." She turned away to put the tray she was holding down on the countertop. "Nice goin', Gillian," she muttered to herself. "First hot guy you meet in who knows how long and you call him old!" Turning to face him again, she sees his small grin and realizes that he'd heard what she just said.

A blush turned her cheeks bright red.

"Don't worry, Gillian – may I call you Gillian?"

She nodded, apparently not wanting to say anything else for fear of embarrassing herself even further.

"The thing is, my friend Trip, he's missing."

"Oh dear! I'm so sorry! When did he go missing?"

"Last night," Jonathan told her. "Have you seen him?"

"Last night? Wow, you don't waste any time, do you? You sure he didn't just go home with someone? A lot of people are lookin' for comfort in the arms of others, especially on a day like today. Even if it's just for a night." Her gaze became pensive and poignant all at the same time. "Can't really blame them, though. On an anniversary of such tragedy."

"No, I can't, Gillian. But Trip and I, well, we're needed back home on urgent business. He wouldn't just run off for the night without telling me. So, please, have you seen him?"

"I haven't, sweetie. I'm sorry. But my shift just started an hour ago, and the girl who was here before me is long gone."

"An hour ago? But you look so…" Jonathan cut himself off rather abruptly, realizing his next words would be anything but polite. Wow, he really needed to get some sleep. His people skills were severely lacking.

"Tired?" she asked. She should have been offended but her smile could have lit up an entire starship.

Captain Jonathan Archer was mesmerized. "I just… I didn't mean…" he stammered, trying desperately to not hurt the feelings of this angel.

She placed a calming hand on his arm. "Don't worry about it, sweetie. Fair play, right? But I got a little guy at home, which means I need to work two jobs to make ends meet..." This time, she was the one to cut herself off. "Wow! Don't I sound like a catch?"

Jonathan smiled. "Actually, you do," he assured her, then shook himself out of his romantic haze. "But I really need to find my friend. Do you know anyone who might be able to help me?"

"Well, look, to be honest, I don't know many people around here. I'm kinda new in town. But Bob, he's our cook, he pretty much knows everyone." She stopped to consider her words. "Not many people seem to _want_ to be known by Bob, however."

Taking in Jonathan's confusion, she explained, "He's a bit of a cold fish, if you know what I mean. He even has the beady little eyes to match," she giggled, looking behind her to make sure Bob was nowhere nearby.

Jonathan froze. 'Beady little eyes'. The guy who had been glaring at Trip. Could he have had something to do with Trip's disappearance?

Gillian mistook his expression for disapproval. "I must sound like a horrible person. He's just a mean SOB, you know? Yelled at my little boy once for spilling his milkshake across the table. I don't know why he was so mad, he wasn't the one who had to clean it up – "

Taking her gently by the elbow, he asked, "Gillian, have you ever seen a man in here wearing a Hawaiian shirt and white shorts?"

She laughed. "You're gonna have to be a little more specific, hon. You just described about fifty percent of the tourists that come in here every day."

"Oh, okay. He had the beady little eyes you just described in Bob…" he paused, thinking back to that first night in the diner, then snapped his fingers as a memory popped to the surface. "He was wearing sandals with white socks that stretched up to the knees!"

"Oh, you mean Farmer Clem?"

"I guess so. I don't know his name. Can you tell me where I can find this 'Farmer Clem'?"

One of her pretty eye brows rose almost to her hairline, signalling to Jonathan that he had once again said something wrong but he couldn't for the life of him figure out what it was this time.

"No, honey, that's not his name… it's just…" she smiled up at him, mildly amused. "Never mind, it's just an east coast saying" she said kindly. "The guy you're describing, he have a funny accent?"

"I don't know," Jonathan admitted. "I never actually heard him say anything."

"Okay, well, if he is the guy I'm thinking of, he usually comes in here around this time but I haven't seen him yet. He may still show, if you wanna wait for him?"

He checked his watch. Trip had been missing for close to two hours now. Probably even longer depending on how long he waited after Jonathan had fallen asleep.

"I would like that," he told Gillian. "Thank you."

She grabbed a cup towel from behind the counter then, handing him the towel, she showed him to a table. A moment later, she returned with a hot cup of coffee and a slice of pie. He opened his mouth to decline but she held up a hand to stop him. "No arguments. I know you probably don't have an appetite, but you need to keep your strength up to find your friend, right?"

"It's not just that," he said sheepishly. "I left our hotel room in such a rush, I forgot to take my money with me."

"Oh," she replied, caught a little off guard. "Well, then, it's on the house."

"You don't have to – "

"Didn't I just say 'no arguments'? Now, eat."

He had to admit, she made a convincing case. If what he suspected turned out to be true, Trip would need him to be strong now more than ever. His thoughts strayed back to when he'd given a similar lecture to an injured Trip when they had been stranded in the desert on the Torothan homeworld.

With a sigh, he decided it would be best to take his own advice – and Gillian's. When he picked up his fork and prepared to dig into the pie, he saw something that lifted his spirits at a time when he truly needed it… the pie was chocolate!

Again, Gillian misinterpreted his hesitation. "We have other kinds, if you prefer. This is just Toby's favourite, so I grabbed it out of habit."

"Toby's your son?" Gillian nodded, a smile of pride touching her lips and spreading up to her eyes. "Then your son has impeccable taste. This was my favourite as a boy, as well. Still is."

Gillian smiled that beautiful smile again. "I hope it's as good as you remember," she said, before walking away to finish cleaning off the few tables that needed her attention.

Jonathan instantly missed her because she was a welcome distraction from the worst case scenarios running around in his mind concerning Trip. The ' _what if_ ' possibilities were truly staggering to say the least.

He considered going to the police to get help. Perhaps, find the young police officer who had confronted him a few moments earlier. Maybe he could help find Trip?

But he dismissed that idea almost as fast as he'd thought of it. The animosity in the young man's eyes gave him the feeling his request would not be received well. Besides, the kid clearly knew someone who looked like Jonathan Archer, 22nd century. He would inevitably figure out that he was talking to a stranger, and then what? Jonathan tells him he's from the future? Oh yeah, that would go over really well.

Trip would likely suggest he tell the young officer that he's merely an evil twin, but that wouldn't work either. Not in real life, anyway.

No, he was in this alone. He was Trip's only hope.

And, dang, if that didn't scare the crap out of him!

TBC


	6. Chapter Five - Jasper

_A/N And I present to you Special Agent Dwayne "King" Pride and Detective Christopher LaSalle! XD_

CHAPTER FIVE

NCIS Special Agent Dwayne "King" Pride sat in the cramped NCIS headquarters, reviewing the casefile in his hands. It wasn't his case, per-se, and acquiring the paperwork had not been particularly above board, but it was too late to turn back now. Besides, ever since he started reading the notes a couple hours ago, something had been nipping at the back of his mind. This case was familiar somehow, he just couldn't quite place it.

His gaze moved up to the clock on the wall, making the knot in his stomach grow exponentially. Nine o'clock. PM. Linda had made it quite clear that, if he was late for supper again, his NCIS agents would be investigating _his_ murder.

The joy of working in law enforcement was that people could make that kind of joke. However, Dwayne was having difficult time deciding on whether or not Linda was joking. Not that he thought that she would literally kill him but figuratively was another story – she would have zero problem with making him _wish_ he were dead. He had opted to play it safe and be profoundly and unmistakably punctual tonight.

Ah, well, best laid plans 'n all. If it wasn't for the seriousness of this case, he would have kept his promise and been home several hours ago, in plenty of time for supper.

The past two years had been difficult for Linda and Laurel both, with Dwayne's attention constantly being called away. If it wasn't a crime scene, it was relief efforts. Occasionally, he had even happened upon a civilian dispute on the way home and, unable to turn a blind eye to people in need, had missed dinner completely. To make matters worse, on those occasions Laurel had always been in bed by the time he got home, leaving him with no chance to say goodnight to his little girl.

And tonight would be no different. The choice hadn't come easy to him. He loved his wife and adored Laurel! But Christopher's downward spiral was weighing on Dwayne's mind more and more with each passing day. Having only known the young man for a little less than a year, the idea that he would be this important to him was inconceivable – yet there it was. He couldn't explain the protective streak that coursed through him every time he saw a chip in the kid's armour, revealing a peek into the immense pain carefully concealed behind it.

But knowing it was there and knowing how to fix it were two totally different animals. Christopher certainly wouldn't accept the help willingly. So, the trick was in either tricking him or forcing him, neither of which particularly appealed to Pride.

With a put upon sigh, he stood up to get another cup of coffee from the kitchenette, biting back a curse when one knee slammed up against the corner of his neighbouring agent's desk along the way.

Incorporating a hodgepodge of more than just NCIS agents, the office was crowded during regular business hours and remained disorganized and cluttered every other time of the day. It was really no wonder at all that he got claustrophobic in this place, even on nights like tonight, when it was devoid of all human life but his own.

Not for the first time, he longed for a more casual setting. A homey atmosphere, if you will. He was still waiting for the official go ahead on that one but 'unofficially' he'd been advised NCIS would allow it on a trial basis. He already had his sights set on a nice carriage house in the French Quarter that would fit his needs perfectly.

He just needed to build the best team NCIS had ever seen – which would be difficult to do, with Jethro and his team in Washington setting such a high bar! Difficult but not impossible!

As he poured his coffee, squeaking hinges brought his attention to the front door and in walked NOPD Vice Detective Christopher LaSalle, looking pretty steamed to say the least.

"Hello, Christopher!" Pride put on his cheeriest smile, a solid declaration of 'I didn't do it and, even if I did, you can't prove it!'. He held up the mostly fresh brew, "Cup of coffee?"

Instead of answering, Christopher stalked into the kitchenette and launched into a blustering tirade. "I thought I was okay with it, but I was wrong!"

Okay, so, it was going to be one of _those_ types of visits. Dwayne sighed inwardly, wishing he wasn't going to be getting behind the wheel in a few short hours because he really wanted to add a little extra something to his coffee when getting torn a new one by Detective LaSalle – it always helped him keep the look of serenity and ignore the fact that his blood was boiling beneath the surface. The young detective could be quite infuriating at times, especially when he was completely oblivious to the fact that Dwayne was just trying to _help_ him!

Concerned about Christopher's state of mind after two horrific cases in a row – one involving a young boy whom the detective had been unable to save despite his above-and-beyond heroic efforts – Dwayne had dropped by the NOPD to make some confidential inquiries. Apparently, those probing questions had not been as discreet as he'd thought.

He kept reminding himself that Christopher LaSalle was simply not used to anyone caring about his well-being enough to actually do anything about it, hence his current mood. Clearly, Dwayne had a hit a nerve. Certainly not his intention but it was better than the indifferent, stoic, almost robot-like version of the past few weeks. Which was why Dwayne leaned back against the counter and just let the kid rant.

"… and then, when I confronted you a few hours ago and you pretended to have _no idea_ what I was talkin' about – "

Dwayne straightened, pulling away from the counter and regarding Christopher with confusion. "You never confronted me."

The young detective's eyebrows rocketed up into his hairline. "Seriously, Pride!? You're gonna play dumb again?"

"Son," Dwayne started, not missing the twitch that occurred in Christopher's expression every time he called him that, "I honestly have no idea what you're talkin' about."

The rage flared in LaSalle's eyes seconds before he yelled and knocked the hot pot of coffee out of Dwayne's hand. It smashed against the wall before it fell to the floor, both impacts sending shards and scalding liquid flying into the air with lightning speed!

For a moment, both men stood rooted to the spot, staring wide-eyed at each other. Christopher was the first to turn away, but not before Dwayne saw the flash of regret replace the rage in his eyes. He reached out and gripped the younger man's arm, intending to stop him from walking away but the detective yanked himself out of Dwayne's reach and headed for the door. "Christopher, stop!"

The tone is what made the difference. Even angry, the young man couldn't ignore that tone from a father figure. And that's what Dwayne was to him, no matter how much he tried to deny it! He reluctantly turned to face Pride, gaze wounded and unsure. And ashamed.

Dwayne indicated the large shard of glass sticking out of Christopher's other arm. "You're hurt."

LaSalle glanced down, transfixed by the bloody rivulets making a trail down to his fingertips and dripping onto the floor. Huh. He hadn't even noticed. By the time he looked up again, Pride was next to him, taking him by his uninjured arm and leading him over to his desk. He felt himself being gently deposited into a chair, then he was alone again.

Alone. Always alone. Just like Jasper had been alone. Nine years old. He was only nine years old!...

His vision went fuzzy. Where was he again?

* * *

 _They threw him into a chair, then held him still while duct tape was wound around his wrists and ankles several more times than necessary, securing him to the chair. They proceeded to beat him incessantly, stopping every few minutes to offer his freedom in exchange for the location of where their boss was being held._

 _Christopher knew they were going to kill him either way. Hazard of the job. Besides, their 'boss' was a child trafficker. No way on God's green earth was he gonna tell them where she was! These guys were muscle, plain and simple. She had been the brains of the operation. No way would they be able to carry on the 'business' without her!_

 _So, he didn't care what they did to him, at least they wouldn't be able to hurt any more innocent children._

 _Then they turned on the monitor and introduced him to Jasper, a little boy they claimed was in another part of the warehouse, scared and alone. He was also tied to a chair, blindfolded. Even through the monitor's cheap speakers, Christopher could hear the tiny sobs echoing in the chamber…_

 _A large hand settled on the side of his neck, squeezing gently. The seeming benevolence confused him. He tried to focus but it was difficult. Wait. Someone was sitting directly in front of him. Too close. He jolted back but the hand kept a firm grip on his neck, while another hand latched onto his shoulder. He heard a voice but it was garbled, as if the person was speaking from underwater. They must have drugged him! He had to help Jasper! He struggled to get away and grunted at the unexpected sharp, burning pain in his arm!_

 _Suddenly, he felt himself pulled forward, his cheek pressed against something hard and unyielding. Solid braces were wrapped around his back, immobilizing him further. "No! Let me go!" He heard drums, loud drums, pounding in one ear! A persistent buzzing sound in the other!_

 _Then Jasper's quiet sobs forced their way past the mysterious drums and buzzing. He pushed and pulled against his restraints, the agony in his arm making him cry out! Angry at himself for showing weakness, he ignored the pain and fought even more fervently._

 _And, just like that, he was free! He instantly tried to get up from the chair, only to feel the raw pain in his arm explode with intensity for a split second. Before he could react, he was pulled forward again. This time his hands were pinned between his chest and the rigid, no-give barrier in front of him. Knowing he'd been bested, he was nevertheless chagrined to hear the soft whimper escape his lips!_

* * *

Dwayne had no idea what happened. One minute, Christopher was sitting quietly in the chair, waiting patiently for Pride to return with the med kit. The next he was struggling to get away as if his life depended on it!

Not knowing what else to do, Dwayne pulled Christopher against his chest and wrapped his arms firmly around him. "Christopher, what's wrong? Settle down! It's just me, kid!"

Then he heard: "Jasper…" and everything came tumbling into place for him.

Christopher was reliving that day. The day Dwayne had been wanting the kid to face up to for weeks! But not like this. Never like this. One particularly jarring movement aggravated the wound in Christopher's arm!

Having heard enough physical and emotional pain from the usually stoic young man to last a lifetime but needing to treat the wound before the struggling made it worse, Dwayne yanked the alarmingly large piece of glass from his young friend's arm. He quickly pressed some gauze against the wound and folded Christopher's arm up to hold it in place.

Seeing the now unmitigated pain in his friend's eyes, he followed suit with the other arm and pulled Christopher forward once again. With the detective's arms pinned between them, and his own arms wrapped around the shuddering back, Dwayne just held on and waited for Christopher to return to the here and now.

* * *

Slowly, he became more aware of his surroundings. The drumming sound was a heartbeat. Frantic, but steady. The buzzing was a voice, though he still couldn't decipher the words, nor determine who the voice belonged to. Each brace across his back was actually an arm. The unyielding barrier was a person. More specifically, a person's chest.

The words began to penetrate his thoughts… "I'm right here, Christopher. I've got you. Come on back, son."

LaSalle tensed. _Aw, crap!_ Pride. Which meant, logically, the arms and the chest belonged to him, as well. He tried to push away but the hold was still firm and unrelenting. "Let me go," he pleaded softly.

There was a pause in the continuing mantra. Then: "Christopher? You with me?"

"Yeah, 'm here," he intoned, flushing with embarrassment.

Still, Pride didn't release him. "You okay?"

"Let me go, Pride," Christopher insisted. "'m good."

After a moment, the arms pulled away from him – and he found himself feeling inexplicably cold and bereft. He determinedly ignored those unexpected sensations, keeping his eyes glued to the floor.

Dwayne ducked down a bit, trying to make eye contact but Christopher was having none of it.

"Sorry about the coffee pot," he muttered, "… and…you know," he waved his hand in the air, "… everything else."

"Don't worry about it," Dwayne said sincerely. Knowing better than to pursue the topic right now, he started to unfold the arm that was still bent up to hold the gauze in place. The young detective instinctually resisted his efforts. Sensing that his young friend needed to be given back some semblance of control over the situation, he said, "Christopher, I need to dress this wound properly. Will you let me do that?"

Chris nodded and lowered his arm, still refusing to meet Pride's eyes but at least allowing himself to be tended to.

"So," Dwayne began, unable to keep the curiosity out of his voice as he extracted the necessary items from the med kit, "tell me about this meeting we had a few hours ago."

* * *

After hearing about the confrontation between Christopher and the apparent Dwayne-doppelganger, Dwayne studied the young detective carefully. What were the chances that the stress had just gotten to be too much for the kid?

"I'm not crazy, Pride!"

Dwayne held up his hands in a placating gesture. "I never said you were, Christopher! I'm just... worried about you," he added earnestly.

"Well, don't be! I don't need you to worry about me, Pride! I did just fine on my own before I met you, okay?!"

"Okay, okay," Dwayne said, benching that discussion for the time being. "So, this guy looked exactly like me?"

"Yes!" Christopher exclaimed. "Right down to that annoying 'see into your soul' gaze of yours!"

Dwayne couldn't help but smirk. Christopher really didn't like the fact that someone could read him so well. "All right, then. Why don't we head out to this diner together? See if my twin is still there."

LaSalle eyed him critically, using his own people reading skills to figure out whether or not Pride was simply humouring him. Satisfied that he was being taken seriously, the young detective nodded his agreement then stood up to follow Pride out of the office...

And froze! He picked up the file folder sitting on Pride's desk, then glared up at the ever frustrating NCIS agent. "This is _my_ casefile! Where did you get this?!"

Having completely forgotten about the file he'd been reviewing earlier, Dwayne's responding grin was sheepish. How was he going to get himself out of this one?

TBC


	7. Chapter Six - The Best of Intentions

_A/N Okay, so, what was supposed to be a two-shot has grown considerably! LoL But I guess we must go where the muse takes us, right? :-) I hope you all enjoy where my muse took me! Archer/Trip friendship and Pride/LaSalle (budding) friendship are both in these here waters! :-) Remember, reviews are like chocolate... actually, they're better than chocolate because they don't go to my hips! XD_

Chapter Six

Jonathan sipped his coffee and stared at the front door to the diner. It had been an hour and Farmer Clem, as Gillian called him, had not yet showed. His gazed moved around, studying the other customers. He couldn't help it. As an explorer, he had always been interested in learning about other cultures. But how often does a guy get to study his _own_ culture, 150 years in the past, first hand?

He sighed deeply. Who was he kidding? Watching the people around him had nothing to do with exploration, or any kind of awe about being more than a century in the past. He needed something to keep himself from losing his mind with worry. It was now over twenty four hours since he last saw Trip! And the only lead he had turned out to be a bust!

Allowing his gaze to wander once again, he settled on a young couple sharing a milkshake – one milkshake, two straws, and two teenagers mooning over each other. And yet again, he found himself remembering _American Graffiti._ Trip had been trying to get him to watch that one again for several weeks – but that was before the Xindi attack on Earth.

Feeling like a bit of a voyeur, he started to turn away from the young couple but something outside the diner caught his eye. A young man who had been partying a little too hard was being half carried, half dragged to a car parked in front of a nearby corner store. Jonathan didn't want to think about how much the kid had lost in Katrina to cause him to drown his sorrows that thoroughly.

Gillian placed another piece of chocolate pie on the table in front of him. He gave her a grim smile of thanks, then returned his attention to the front door.

This time, he let his mind drift instead of his eyes.

* * *

 _April 13th, 2151_

 _Captain Jonathan Archer, party planner extraordinaire, turned out to be a horrible friend because, while he was off flirting with a woman he couldn't even recall the name of right now, Trip had gone missing!_

 _Phlox had decided to leave the party about an hour earlier. Hoshi, Malcolm, and Travis all gave the same report – Trip had mumbled something about going to the restroom; when asked if he was okay, he'd insisted that he was fine; other than a bit of stumbling, which they'd attributed to too much alcohol, the chief engineer had indeed seemed 'fine'. Until half an hour had passed and he had still not returned._

 _Malcolm and Travis had already searched the entire bar, with Hoshi staying at the table in case Trip ventured back on his own. There'd been no sign of the birthday boy in question._

 _Now, the captain sat with them at the table, all fretting over what had happened to their friend. "Are you sure you checked the entire bar?"_

 _"Yes, sir," Malcolm confirmed. "Top to bottom. He's not in here."_

 _"Washrooms?"_

 _"That was the first place we looked," Travis informed him. "There was no sign of Commander Tucker anywhere, sir."_

 _The waitress arrived to clear off the table. When she picked up Trip's glass, something caught Jonathan's eye. He grabbed her wrist, wincing at the gasp his grip elicited from her. "I'm so sorry," he said, instantly releasing her. "Can I just see that glass for a minute, please?"_

" _That's okay, hon," she responded, handing the requested item over with a smile. "You didn't hurt me, just surprised me, is all. Not often I have customers fighting to keep an extra glass," she joked._

 _Jonathan offered up a small smile, then peered at the top edge and side of the glass. Trip's drink had left behind a white powdery residue. He sensed rather than saw Hoshi, Malcolm and Travis lean over his shoulder. Even the waitress stepped closer to study the suspicious residue._

 _The horror in each gaze spoke of the same conclusion crashing through his own mind – Trip had been drugged!_

 _That kind of thing rarely happened anymore, the drugs required were extremely hard to come by. Whoever did it had to have really good connections! And, whoever did it, was going to suffer a world of hurt once Jonathan got a hold of them._

 _But Jonathan couldn't be concerned about that, right now. His number one priority had to be finding Trip. As the waitress left to report the incident to her manager, taking the glass with her, Jonathan turned to the three officers who were still frozen in shock. The feelings of guilt plain to see on their faces._

" _Malcolm," the captain called. No response. The other man seemed to be lost in his own thoughts. "Malcolm!" he said again, louder this time._

 _The head of security looked up at him, eyes filled with self-recrimination. "I am so sorry, sir! I should have kept a better eye on him!"_

 _ **You and me both** , Jonathan thought. _" _It's not your fault, Malcolm," he said aloud, choosing to refrain from voicing his own culpability in the matter for now. Priorities. He placed a hand on Malcolm's shoulder, in support but also to demand the other man's full attention. "You said, you and Travis searched the entire bar."_

" _Yes, sir."_

" _Did you check the alley?"_

 _This gave Malcolm pause. "Well, no, we had no reason to think the commander would leave the bar on his own, especially through the back door..." He glanced down at the table, picturing the glass as if it were still there. "Unless, he didn't leave of his own volition," he added._

 _At that moment, the waitress returned to the table. "My manager called the police, they should be here any minute now."_

" _That fast," Malcolm remarked. "Got some connections does he?"_

" _No. But I do. My brother is a cop." In response to the questioning looks, she added, "This happened on my watch. I take that very seriously!"_

 _Jonathan took in the name on her nametag. "Thank you, Naomi," he said sincerely. "Now, can you tell us where we would find the door to the back alley."_

 _A questioning look of her own flashed on her face, then disappeared just as quickly, understanding almost instantly why they wanted to see the alley. "I'll do better than that," she stated simply. "I'll show you."_

 _The group must have looked odd, weaving between the tables as one, and heading for the back of the bar. A couple minutes later, the captain saw the EXIT sign above a nearby door. Naomi tried to push it open but it wouldn't move._

" _Could it be locked?" Hoshi wondered._

" _No way," the waitress declared. "This is a fire exit, it's never supposed to be locked while the bar is open for business." She tried to open it again._

 _Travis noticed there was a tiny bit of give, barely noticeable. "Captain, I have an idea," he offered. To the waitress, he said, "May I?"_

 _She moved out of Travis' way and he put all his weight into opening the door. There was more give this time, but still not enough. Malcolm and Jonathan added their weight to the effort and the door opened a few more inches, just enough for Hoshi and Naomi to slip through._

 _The gasp Archer heard from Hoshi tightened the knot already in his gut. "What is it, Hoshi? What's blocking the door?"_

 _There was a long pause as Hoshi seemed unable to find her voice. "Captain, it's Commander Tucker. He's pretty beat up, sir."_

" _Can you and Naomi move him?"_

 _Another pause. "Maybe. Just a second, sir."_

 _Jonathan, Malcolm, and Travis, all heard the two women grunt with the effort as they tried to move 80 kilos of lean muscle. The three men pushed on the door to offer what assistance they could from the other side of the threshold. Finally, inch by inch, the door opened far enough for each man to fit through._

 _The captain instantly understood Hoshi's initial reaction upon seeing the chief engineer._

 _Trip was lying on the grungy alley floor, his right arm, presumably the one Hoshi and Naomi had used to drag him a foot or so away from the door, stretched out above his head but the rest of his body was curled in the fetal position, as if desperately protecting itself from whatever onslaught Trip had suffered._

 _Jonathan knelt down next to his friend, doing his best to quell the voice inside his head – 'this is your fault, this is your fault, this is your fault'. As he did some basic triage, he lifted Trip's shirt. Everyone drew in a sharp breath at the sight of mottled bruises, welts, cuts and scrapes along his ribcage and, upon further examination, his lower back._

 _Most of the bruises appeared to form the shape of boot prints._

 _The captain clenched his teeth, forcing back the bile rising in his throat, and continued his examination. As soon as he pressed gently on the injured ribs, Trip gasped his way back to consciousness._

" _Easy, Trip," Jonathan said softly. Uncertain where he could touch that wouldn't cause additional pain, he settled on simply carding his hand through the light brown strands. "Just take it easy, buddy."_

" _Cap'n? Wha' – wha' 'appened, sir?"_

 _Eyeing the still pinpoint pupils, Jonathan replied, "You were drugged, Trip. And then you got beat up pretty badly," he added._

 _Trip must have heard the remorse in the captain's voice because he said, "'s not yer fault."_

" _Trip – " Jonathan began, for the first time admonishing the younger man's tendency to forgive so quickly._

" _Help me up," Trip said, voice still pained. His eyes darted back and forth, as if expecting another attack._

" _I don't think you should move."_

 _The pleading look he got next made him realize, Trip wasn't fearful of another attack, he was mortified at appearing so vulnerable in front of the very people he would be giving orders to once Enterprise left dock._

 _Jonathan sighed inwardly – this is exactly what Trip had wanted to avoid, and what Jonathan had promised he would prevent. He slipped his arm beneath his friend's shoulders and eased him to a sitting position, leaning him back against his own body as added support._

 _Trip struggled against his hold, eager to get to his feet. "Take it slow," Jonathan whispered in his ear._

" _Sir," Travis interrupted._

" _Yes, Ensign?"_

" _Uh, I think you should see this. The commander isn't the only person who was hurt in this alley, sir."_

 _That was all the encouragement Trip needed to ignore the captain's request to take it slow. Turning away from Jonathan, he used the wall as support and hauled himself to his feet… and instantly started to topple back to the ground._

 _Jonathan, who had been standing silently by, trying to give Trip the space he clearly needed, jumped in to stop the fall. With one arm around his chief engineer's waist, and the other hand gripping him under the elbow, he helped his friend walk over to where Ensign Mayweather was standing._

 _As they neared, another form slowly came into view. First the feet, then the legs, then the rest of the body which had been hidden by a large trash bin. This body was bruised like Trip's but what grabbed the attention of the onlookers was the blade sticking out of the abdomen._

 _Jonathan felt Trip's body tense significantly at the sight, then he had to adjust his grip to compensate for the extra weight he had to support as the strength seemed to leave Trip's legs completely. "Joey?" he breathed._

* * *

The drive to the diner was silent but for the weather forecaster on the radio. The air was thick with tension. Rain continued to come down hard and the winds were picking up strength. The radio announcer said that some people were nervous that this tropical storm could escalate into another full blown hurricane, but assured everyone that that would not be the case!

Regardless, the windshield wipers were at full blast and it was still nearly impossible to see more than a couple dozen feet ahead of Pride's truck. Tropical storms came with dangers, as well.

But Detective Christopher LaSalle's mind was not on the storm at the moment.

What had happened in Pride's office, anyway? That'd never happened to him before, at least not while he was awake. And for it to happen in front of Pride? Talk about the worst timing ever!

Pride was already convinced Christopher was some _kid_ who needed protecting, now he had even more ammunition to support that theory. The guy seemed to think he was his father, or something! The _last_ thing Chris needed was another father figure in his life. The original one was bad enough, with his own unique version of discipline whenever he was around to deliver it.

It was true, Pride had never given him a real reason not to trust him but it was only a matter of time before he did. It'd be best for all involved if Chris just cut him off at the pass before it happened. In Christopher's experience, trust was a one-way street and it always led to a dead end.

He was tired. That was it, plain and simple. After all, he hadn't been able to get a full night's sleep in over a week now. He just had to stay in control; keep calm no matter what. And, most of all, make darn sure that what happened in that NCIS office never, _ever_ happened again!

He glanced to his left, wondering for the umpteen millionth time since meeting Special Agent Dwayne 'King' Pride who this guy thought he was! He needed to nip this in the bud, once and for all.

"It's bad enough you go around my place o' work askin' questions that make people think there's somethin' wrong with me – "

"That wasn't my intention, Chris – "

"I don't much care what your _intentions_ were, Pride! Point is, you did it, and now the people who're supposed to depend on me in tough situations are doubtin' my ability to do my job!"

"I'm sorry," Dwayne said, sincerely.

"Whatever. It's done. But now you're stealin' my casefiles, too!?"

"Casefile. Singular."

"Yeah? 'n I'm supposed to believe you'll never do it again?"

Suddenly, Pride swerved to the right, narrowly missing another car. Chris grabbed a hold of the hand rest on the door.

"Are you crazy, Pride?"

As soon as the truck was safely out of traffic and parked against the curb, Dwayne turned in his seat to face Christopher. "First of all, I didn't steal the file. One of my contacts in the department _loaned_ it to me out of professional courtesy."

"Professional courtesy, my a – !" He bit off what he was going to say, took a deep breath, then said, "What does this case have to do with you?"

Taking the olive branch for what it was, Pride explained, "These guys you're after, their M.O. matches an NCIS case from close to 4-months ago."

"They're heroine traffickers, Pride. I haven't found any connection to the Navy."

"Fine. But if you do…?"

"Then I will contact someone from NCIS and make it a joint investigation."

"Someone," Pride repeated. "But not me."

"Contrary to what you seem to believe, I do know how to _detect_ things without you, Pride! That's why I'm a _detect_ ive, it's kinda what I do!"

"Is there a reason you don't want us to work this case together?"

"Yeah. You're a buttinski."

Pride smirked. "A buttinski?"

"Yeah, as in you stick your nose where it doesn't belong."

"I'm just worried about you, Christopher."

"Ah, man, here we go again!" Chris threw his hands in the air in frustration. "Stop worryin' about me," he exclaimed. "I don't _want_ you to worry about me! I'm _fine_!"

Dwayne sighed inwardly, gripping the steering wheel tight. He watched the rain pelt against the windshield for a long moment. Then: "Son, you are on a downward spiral – "

"For cryin' out loud, Pride! _Stop_ calling me that! You are _not_ my father! You're barely even my friend! You're an acquaintance, that's it! Nothin' more!" He regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth, and the stricken look on Pride's face only served to solidify his guilt.

Dwayne turned in his seat and pulled back onto the road, being sure to check his blind spots this time. Amazing the extra details you pay attention to when you're trying to pretend you're feelings weren't just squashed beneath a size 10 boot.

"I'm sorry," Chris began, "I didn't mean that – "

"Actually," Dwayne said softly, "I'm pretty sure you did."

"Pride – "

"No, Christopher, it's okay. Really. Linda's always telling me I need to learn to mind my own business." He glanced over, making eye contact with Christopher for as long as the driving conditions would allow. "It won't happen again," he promised.

The hurt look was gone. Buried so deep, in fact, that LaSalle wasn't sure that he didn't imagine it in the first place. But his gut told him that he didn't. And one thing he'd learned over the years was to trust his gut. He opened his mouth to try to apologize again but, before he could, Pride asked, "This the place?"

Christopher turned in the direction Pride indicated and saw the diner in question. "Yup, that's it."

Pride nodded. As he searched for a place to park, both men kept their silence for completely different reasons.

Dwayne was hurt and trying to hide it.

Chris was just plain confused – because he found himself hoping that Pride didn't keep his promise.

* * *

Gillian stepped up to Archer's table to refill his almost empty coffee cup. "You look like you could use some more caffeine."

"Thanks, Gillian," he said, offering up a grim smile.

She smiled back and started to walk away again. Jonathan looked down at his half eaten piece of pie and an idea struck him. "You wouldn't happen to have pecan pie, would you?"

She laughed. "Best in the whole state, if you're to believe the tourists," she told him. "Why? You want a piece of that, instead?"

"No. It's just… that's Trip's favourite."

Gillian smiled. "Well, then, I guess I'll just have to make sure he has a whole pecan pie waiting for him when you find him!"

"He'd like that," Jonathan grinned. "He'd like that a lot."

Gillian turned to tend to her other customers when movement at the front window caught her eye. "Hey, Jonathan, you don't have a twin that you haven't told me about, do you?"

At first he thought that was an odd question, then he remembered all the talk about doppelgangers. "No…" he said with more than a little trepidation. He followed her gaze and immediately saw the police officer from earlier that evening step through the door. He started to rise out of his seat, realizing that this might be a sign that he should ask the police for help, after all. Because he was running out of options fast and he needed to find Trip. The timetable he sensed hanging over him earlier was getting more and more urgent with every minute that passed.

But the person who came in after the officer is what caused Archer to freeze in a half-seated position. He was sure he was seeing things. Maybe his exhaustion was causing hallucinations. He certainly hadn't taken the whole doppelganger theory literally.

His gaze found Gillian who was still staring at the man herself. Her reaction matching his own was all the proof Jonathan needed that this was no hallucination. Although unexpected, twins clearly weren't as rare as they used to be…

Because Captain Jonathan Archer was staring at his right now.

TBC


	8. Chapter Seven - Coo Coo for Cocoa Puffs

Chapter Seven

The last thing he remembered was sitting at the quaint little bar across from the hotel, nursing a two finger of whiskey and thinking about Elizabeth. Even now, the very thought of her death made his breath catch in his throat. He stomped the all-too familiar feelings down, however. He had more pressing matters to deal with, right now.

Where was he, and how did he get here? And where was the captain? Jonathan hadn't been with him at the bar, so Trip had good reason to be hopeful that he hadn't been pulled into this predicament with his trouble-magnet chief engineer!

So, time to analyze his situation a bit…

His arms were raised above him, hands bound securely to some kind of hook with a thick rope. Duct tape covered his mouth. The room was hot and humid. It was too dark to see anything more than dark shapes – boxes judging by the sharp angles. The overwhelming musty earth smell told Trip that he was most likely in a basement of some kind.

His head was pounding but not like it would for a typical hangover, and not like if he'd been knocked over the head with something. In fact, Trip had experienced this type of headache before – a little over two years earlier when he'd been drugged at his birthday celebration.

But, wait, they were now over 150 years in the past. So, technically, that hadn't happened yet. But he could still remember it. So, he supposed, it had happened, even though it hadn't…

Okay, his head was hurting even more now! No more thoughts of time travel until it didn't feel like an aft torpedo was exploding inside his skull!

* * *

 _April 14th, 2151_

 _Joey had been Trip's best friend throughout their time at Starfleet. They had often lost touch since graduation but their friendship was the kind that survived long bouts of not being able to see or talk to each other. Every time they met up again, no matter how long it had been, they simply picked up where they'd left off. Like no time had passed at all._

" _I saw him come in with a large group of friends, sir," Hoshi offered, her words barely registering in Trip's mind. "The commander went over to greet all of them but seemed to be particularly good friends with this man."_

 _Now Joey was dead. And, though Trip was wracking his brain, he couldn't remember why it had happened, let alone who had done it._

 _The nausea rose without warning. Painfully aware of the onlookers, Trip staggered forward to press one hand against the wall, striving desperately to remain in control._

 _He heard the captain issue orders behind him. "Hoshi, go back inside and find the rest of the group. Find out what they know about all this. Travis, go with her."_

" _Yes, sir," they both replied, and Trip felt rather then saw their hasty departure._

" _What about me, sir?" Malcolm asked._

 _To Trip all the words sounded garbled, as if they were all speaking from under water. He swallowed convulsively as all the meals from that day fought to resurface. He just wanted to be alone. Was that too much to ask?_

" _Malcolm, I want you to run interference with the police."_

" _Sir?"_

" _I'm going to get Trip home safely. He's in no shape to speak with the cops, right now. They can come by his apartment tomorrow morning if they have any questions. Just make sure they know he's a victim here, too. Can you help him, please? You're influence with your brother might help matters."_

 _Trip had no idea who he was talking to but he suddenly felt someone watching him. Still forcing back the nausea, he cringed with shame._

" _Sir, do you think maybe a hospital might be a better idea?" Malcolm's voice again._

 _Trip groaned. The last thing he wanted was to be poked and prodded by some Nurse Ratched. Once again, he could feel a set of eyes on him. The captain's this time. Trip flushed with embarrassment, certain that the captain was studying him. Seeing through his walls like he'd always been able to do._

" _No, he'll be fine at home, I think. I'll stay with him and call Phlox if I encounter any problems."_

 _ **Thank you, Cap'n**_ _, Trip thought. Once Malcolm left, along with whomever else the captain had been speaking to, Trip could assure the captain that he'd be fine and he'd finally be alone!_

 _ **Joey…**_

 _A few seconds later, he felt a firm hand on his shoulder. "You okay, Trip?"_

 _The voice sounded oddly far away, echoing between his ears. He tried to nod but the sudden movement caused his stomach to launch one final attempt at rebellion. This time it won._

 _Trip found himself doubled over, not only with the nausea but with an acute onslaught of pain, as well. His mortification increased ten-fold as the captain's arm slipped around his middle and his other hand cupped his forehead. Trip couldn't deny that his best friend's close proximity provided an unexpected amount of comfort – but that realization only served to humiliate him even further._

 _His thoughts went to his father's words 'never, ever show weakness… your superiors are just gonna be lookin' for a reason to replace you…'. A small whimper broke free as he weakly tried to push the captain away._

 _Instead of making the captain leave, however, his desperation pulled the man closer. Trip felt the captain lean forward to whisper in his ear, "Don't fight me, Trip. Let me help you. Please."_

 _Just as Trip was about to argue the words, his legs promptly gave out on him and he plummeted down towards his puddle of regurgitated lunch…_

* * *

Pulled from his memory by a door opening above him, Trip squinted against the glare of light abruptly filling the room as a switch was flipped at the top of the staircase directly to his right.

Two large men descended the stairs, both wearing Hawaiian shirts, white shorts, black knee-high socks, and brown sandals. Their comedic, touristy apparel was gravely contradicted by the pistol each man carried in a shoulder holster.

Trip tried inconspicuously to free himself from his bonds but to no avail. As the men neared, he noticed the brass knuckles on the hand of one and Trip quickly remembered him – the cold, steely eyed guy from the diner.

What was more disconcerting was the fact that he still saw the same recognition in the other man's eyes that he'd seen that night… and Trip was guessing that they hadn't been friends.

"My friends didn't believe me when I told them you were in town, Dempsey," the man said with a heavy accent that Trip couldn't place. He roughly tore the duct tape off Trip's face, taking both whiskers and flesh with it in the removal.

"Look, friend," Trip tried, "you got me confused with someone else. I have no idea who this Dempsey guy – " His words were promptly cut off by a brass knuckled fist to the ribs! He grunted in pain, instinctively trying unsuccessfully to pull his knees up to protect himself while simultaneously fighting back the unexpected nausea.

"We want the heroine your idiot brother lost, Dempsey!"

Trip tried to catch his breath enough to tell them that he had no idea what they were talking about but before he could, the second man's fist, thankfully brass-free, clipped him in the jaw! Unfortunately, even without the brass knuckles, the guy packed one heck of a punch, snapping Trip's head back with the force of it.

"I don't… know… what…" was all he managed to gasp out before he was punched on the other side of his jaw!

"Tell us – "

Brass knuckles to the ribs.

"—where – "

Brass knuckles to his lower back, clearly aiming for the kidneys.

"—our heroine is!"

Trip's vision started to go black. He was losing consciousness. He tried to fight it but his body had other plans, wanting the pain to end, at least for a little while.

The second man got a fistful of Trip's hair and yanked his head backwards, forcing him to make eye contact with the man from the diner. "Think on that for a while," the man growled.

Trip's head was released it fell forward until his chin rested on his chest. He could barely breathe through the pain.

A moment later, everything went black.

* * *

Archer sat waiting impatiently in the interrogation room. Judging by the looks he got from his doppelganger and the angry police officer after telling them his story, he figured he should be thankful he hadn't been sent to the type of hospital he'd seen in _"One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest"_ with Trip a few months earlier.

The thought of Trip made his heart ache. He glanced at his watch. It had now been over twenty four hours since Jonathan had started this seemingly fruitless search, and now he was stuck in a non-descript room waiting for his – and Trip's fate – to be decided by two strangers. One of whom looked exactly like Archer… and both of whom had absolutely no idea what was going on!

The last thing he'd wanted to do was tell them about being from the future but they hadn't really left him any other choice. He needed their help and the only way they were going to understand the seriousness of the situation would be if he told them everything.

Besides, Jonathan was too worn out to make up a believable story right now – particularly without Trip there to fill in the finer 'era-relevant' details. And to be caught in a lie would only make matters worse.

Finally, the door opened and he looked up to see his doppelganger step into the room. What was his name again? Pride? Yeah, Agent Dwayne Pride. Man, it did not get any less weird staring at your reflection when there was no mirror in sight!

"Where's Detective Riggs?" he asked with a grim smile.

Pride gazed at him for a long moment, head cocked to the side. "You say you're from 150 years in the future, right?"

"That's right."

"Then, tell me, how is it that you're able to reference _Lethal Weapon_? A movie that was produced more than a hundred years before you were even born?"

Jonathan shrugged. "I have a friend who loves classic movies and television."

"This the same friend you claim is missing?"

"It's not a 'claim'. He _is_ missing. And the longer we wait – "

"You'll forgive me if I don't immediately take the word of someone who could just as easily be an escapee from the nearest psychiatric hospital." Pride declared, pulling a chair over to sit across the table from him.

"You think, I'm crazy," the captain said, confirmation not question.

The NCIS agent chuckled dryly. "Well, yeah, the thought had crossed my mind."

Jonathan pulled out his tablet for the third time that day. "How do you explain this, then?"

"In this day and age, new technology is being produced every minute, it seems. Making the one before it basically obsolete. And I certainly don't have a handle on each and every patent that gets approved."

Remembering his encounter with the bartender shortly after discovering Trip was missing, Archer sighed but remained silent.

Pride smiled somewhat condescendingly, eyeing the device with unveiled curiosity. He reached out to press a button on the tablet and Trip's picture shimmered into view. Archer watched him hesitate suddenly, his gaze inscrutable as he peered at the photo.

"What is it?"

The chair scraped across the floor as the agent pushed away from the table and stood up to leave. As he got to the door, Jonathan said "Can I ask you a question?"

Taking a fortifying breath, the agent said, "Shoot."

"Why in the world would a piece of fruit need a beta tester?"

Pride bit back an incredulous laugh. "Excuse me?"

"You think I'm a beta tester for an apple, right? Why would an apple need a beta test in the first place?"

The NCIS agent turned to leave, did a double-take as if waiting for the punch line, then exited the room, shaking his head with what looked like dismay.

The captain was alone in the room again, although something told him he was being watched, perhaps by someone on the other side of the mirror that almost covered one wall. Also seen in one of Trip's movies.

He stood and stalked over to the mirror, staring directly into it and getting the feeling that his living and breathing reflection was staring back at him from the other side.

"We don't have time for this," he yelled. "My friend could be hurt! We need to find him. Please!"

* * *

 _April 14th, 2151_

 _Jonathan watched as Trip started to go down, tightening his grip around his friend's waist and pulling backwards just in time. They both went down in a heap but at least they avoided the contents of Trip's stomach puddled at the kid's feet._

 _Trip instantly tried to get free, his darn pride entering into the equation yet again. However, their limbs were a tangled mess and he was just going to end up hurting himself even worse._

 _With his chief engineer practically in his lap, Jonathan got a firm grip on him from behind, which wasn't difficult given his current weakened and, darn it, drugged state. "Easy, Trip. Take it easy, kid. It's just you and me here. You've got nothing to be embarrassed about."_

 _The struggles ceased but the mortification remained. It didn't matter that Jonathan was the kid's best friend. In the Tucker household, weakness was weakness, no matter who was seeing it. So, he helped Trip to his feet but kept his arm around his waist for support. "How's about we get you home, huh?"_

" _I can make it on my own," Trip panted, trying to shrug off the captain's helping hands._

" _Maybe, maybe not," Jonathan asserted. "But I'm not taking any chances. Now, come on," he added, urging Trip down the length of the alleyway, towards the street._

" _Cap'n," Trip argued, still resisting his help._

" _That's an order, Trip." He hated pulling rank on his friend, but sometimes it was the only way to get through to him. And sometimes it was the only way to slip past the years of training he'd received from his ironhanded, pigheaded father!_

 _Trip finally complied, albeit reluctantly, and allowed the captain to keep him on his feet for the walk home. The street was mostly deserted as most people were either still partying or home in bed._

 _By the time they approached the front door of Trip's building, the chief engineer was seriously listing. Jonathan had to half drag, half carry the near limp form to the elevator. He leaned him against his side, holding him in place with one arm around the slim shoulders, then pressed the button for the eighth floor._

 _When the elevator dinged, they started the journey down the hall and Archer found himself cursing the fact that Trip's apartment was all the way down at the opposite end. He never thought Trip being conscious would be a bad thing but the bruises and scrapes were making their way through the initial shock of the evening and he was gasping and moaning with every step._

 _For probably the third time since they'd left the alleyway, the younger man's legs began to give out on him. The other times, Jonathan had propped him up against a nearby wall or pillar and waited until he enough strength back to continue._

 _However, this time, with a long-term reprieve within sight, Jonathan had other plans. He pulled the key card out of Trip's pocket, then made eye contact with him. The lids were heavy but the gaze coherent. "Sorry, kid," he said simply._

 _He didn't miss the look of betrayal in the all too knowing eyes, even empathized because he had his own fair share of pride and would hate to be in Trip's position. But the kid's well-being was his first priority and he was in a lot of pain._

 _In one final desperate attempt, the chief engineer tried to get his wobbly legs to hold him out of sheer willpower alone but failed. Unable to witness the agony any longer, Jonathan leaned down and folded the younger man over his shoulders in a fireman's carry, attempting to distribute the weight across Trip's entire torso in deference to the certainly bruised lower ribs._

 _Jonathan did his best to ignore the humiliated groan of protest as he carried him the rest of the way down the hall, but it wasn't easy._

" _We'll never speak of this again, Trip," he promised. "But we need to get you to bed so you can rest, kid."_

 _He swiped the key card in front of the memory pad on the wall and then pushed the button to open the door._

* * *

"You can't tell me that you are honestly starting to believe him! This guy is coo-coo for Cocoa Puffs, Pride!"

Dwayne was pouring himself yet another cup of coffee in the kitchenette. At this rate, he wouldn't even be home for breakfast! Linda was going to kill him!

"You get to be my age and you start to realize that not everything in this world can be easily explained."

"Okay, fine, I get that… but time travel?"

"Well, we checked out his story as best we could. His finger prints brought back nothing – "

"That only means that he's never been arrested for anything," Christopher dismissed, heatedly.

"Well, if he is an escapee from a psychiatric hospital, as we originally thought, his prints would be on file. And what about his missing friend?"

"What about him?"

"I recognized him from an old NCIS file, showed that photo to the waitress Archer said served them both at the diner their first night here. She confirmed it's the same guy."

Christopher's head was starting to hurt with all this time travel nonsense. He pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger, trying to alieve the pain. "So, what does that prove? Who is our 'missing person'?"

"Was."

LaSalle's head shot up at that and he winced at the pain that reverberated through his skull in response. He nodded a reluctant 'thank you' for the pills Pride shoved into his hand, then said, "Whaddya mean, 'was'? You gonna tell me, you believe in zombies now, too?"

"Nope. James Dempsey was shot and killed resisting arrest this past May. Shot in the head," he added with a smirk. "So, he _can't_ be a zombie."

"Haha, you're a funny guy," Christopher commented snidely. He was so not in the mood for this, he thought as he popped the pills into his mouth and chased them down with a gulp from the glass of water Pride set on the counter for him.

"Come on, Christopher. What are the chances of two doppelgangers in the same city at the same time?" The question was rhetorical. The mute response from Christopher was all the urging Pride needed to continue, pacing back and forth across the small kitchenette as he spoke – silently deciding, he would need a bigger kitchen at the new office. "Do you have any idea how rare - ?"

"Yeah, Pride, I did my own research. I know exactly how it's pretty near impossible to have someone who isn't a blood relative be almost an exact replica."

"Not almost, Christopher. I can't even see any differences! And it's _my face_!"

But, if Jonathan Archer wasn't one of these 'doppelgangers', and he wasn't any relation to Pride, then who the heck was he? Christopher snapped his fingers as an idea occurred to him. "Maybe the coroner made a mistake when he ID'd the guy."

Dwayne shook his head. "Not Ducky."

"Ducky?" Chris repeated, voice dripping with disbelief. "You're trusting the word of a coroner named Ducky?"

Instead of responding like a normal person, Pride just smiled that annoying 'I know more than you do' smile.

"What is it with you NCIS agents and your weird nicknames?" Christopher muttered. Without waiting for an answer he knew wasn't coming anyway, he said, "Maybe the agent who fired on him was wrong, then. Shot the wrong guy and tried to cover it up."

"Not a chance," Pride declared with unshakeable confidence.

"Better chance of that than time travel!"

Pride smirked again. "You don't know Leroy Jethro Gibbs."

Knowing he was fighting a losing battle, Chris grit his teeth and said, "You wanna help this guy, go right ahead. But you're on your own." Without another word, he turned and stormed towards the door.

"Christopher," Dwayne called out calmly.

"What?" Fed up, Christopher tossed the word over his shoulder, clearly with no intention of stopping let alone turning around.

"The NCIS case with James Dempsey is the same case I was telling you about earlier. The one that revolved around the South African drug cartel you're currently tracking."

Detective Christopher LaSalle froze mid-step. A long moment passed before he turned to face Pride again. This little nugget of information definitely changed things.

But it didn't change his thoughts on the impossibility of time travel. Not by a long shot.

TBC


End file.
